I Dreamed of Abydos Last Night
by JAJJAJ
Summary: Daniel is left alone when Sam and Teal'c fail in their mission to contact the Asgard in time to rescue Jack from stasis in Antarctica. Alternate universe from Season Eight's New Order. Warning: Major character deaths
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: This story is for entertainment purposes only. I do not own Stargate SG-1 or its characters and make no profit from the story.

**Title:** I Dreamed of Abydos Last Night

**Spoilers: **New Order, 1 and 2, and probably many small ones through Season 7.

**Warnings: **Major character death(s)

Prologue

_I dreamed of Abydos last night. I sat cross-legged on one of Hari'sha's beautiful woven rugs with some of the boys, Ari-dou, Sapoo, A'dam, Palou, boys I haven't thought about in years, teaching them what I could about stars, planets, solar systems, the wide universe. The day was waning, and the cool evening breeze had begun to blow. One of the boys pointed to the setting sun and said, "Dan'yel, you know that is the only star that truly matters," and then Sapoo said, "No, no, tell us more, please, Dan'yel! Someday I will travel to the places of which you speak. We belong in the stars!"And the boys and I all laughed. I don't remember more than that, but I woke up smiling, my head turned toward the slight breeze coming through screened window of my tent. Maybe it was the coolness of the predawn air that gave me this memory or maybe my subconscious still struggles to find the peace that I've given up on. The dream was so vivid that if I close my eyes even now, I can almost hear the boys' laughter and feel the warmth of their bodies gathered around me. I can smell the evening meals being cooked across the city, the— _

"Jacques!" a cheerful British voice called from outside Daniel's tent. "Come to breakfast. The day's a-wasting!"

Daniel sighed at the interruption and closed his journal, sticking it in the bottom of his pack, then extinguished the flame on his small propane lamp.

"Coming, Charles," he called out. "You don't have to wake up the whole camp."

"Dawn has come and gone," Charles retorted. "They'll all be stirring soon enough. We'll be melting by half eight."

Charles was right. The earlier hint of coolness had already been defeated by the humidity of the new day. Daniel pulled his tee-shirt from his sticky chest to try to air it out and reached down to put his work boots on. "All right," he said. "You win. Did you at least start the coffee?"

"Of course," Charles said. "I need you in top form today!"

Daniel paused for just a moment more. He closed his eyes and thought of the boys on Abydos and the cool desert breeze and tried to recapture that moment of dream-induced happiness, but it was gone, replaced by other images, the real ones, the ones that usually filled his nights. The excitement at exploring the universe he once shared with the Sapoo of his dream was a thing of the past. The Abydonians were gone, Sha're was gone. Jack, Sam, Teal'c. . . . All gone. These days, he kept his eyes on the ground on starry nights.

Daniel shook his head. "Enough," he told himself. "This isn't helping." He ran a hand over his face as if to physically wipe away the sorrow he knew showed there and rearranged his features in what he hoped was a good imitation of a man mildly annoyed at being disturbed so early in the morning. Then he stood up, pushed the flap of his tent aside and stepped out to greet the already steamy Amazonian day.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **Some of the dialogue here is taken directly from Season 8's New Order, although by the end it's decidedly AU. I've tried to give enough information so that if you've never watched the end of Season 7 and the beginning of Season 8, you will still understand what's going on, but I'm not sure I've been successful. . . .

Chapter 1

Three months ago. Cheyenne Mountain.

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Daniel walked down the hall toward Sam's lab. Finally, they would be able to do something! The last days had been incredibly frustrating. If only he'd been allowed back into the Ancient outpost in Antarctica, he might have found something that could have helped them figure out a way to save Jack by now—at least he would have been able to try—but instead the leaders of the world were playing politics, and Jack, who had once again given everything to save the planet, was still marooned there in stasis, frozen until they could find a way to revive him without the Ancient knowledge in his head killing him.

Now, amazingly, Weir had done an about-face and agreed to Sam's plan. Honestly, Daniel would have liked to have had a chance to try an Earth-bound remedy first before heading off for another galaxy to try and find the Asgard, but given the way treaty talks were going, this was probably Jack's best, if not only, shot.

Daniel got to Sam's lab and stepped inside. "Hey!" he greeted Sam and Teal'c, who were deep in conversation. "So, uh, how did you talk Weir into letting us go?"

Sam looked at Daniel apologetically. "I didn't. I talked her into letting _us_ go. You're staying here."

Daniel looked at his friends as if they were crazy. How could they go without him? If they thought he would let them risk their lives. . . .

"Daniel," Sam said, seeing the look on his face, "even with the modifications to the ship, there's no guarantee it'll get us there, and if it does, there's a good chance it'll burn out the engines. The ship was never meant to fly at that speed, which means, if we don't find the Asgard, we'll be stranded."

"I know," Daniel said.

"We need you here," Sam went on. "You're our best chance at deciphering whatever information is in that Ancient outpost."

Daniel was about to protest again when Teal'c added, "If we fail, you will be O'Neill's only hope."

Daniel was silent at that. They were right; he knew that, but what would he do if they didn't. . . . How could he live with himself if. . . .

"When do you leave?" he said finally, failing to hide the strain in his voice.

"Tomorrow," Sam said. "Look, Daniel. . . ."

"It's all right, Sam," he said. "We have no choice." He gave a weak grin. "I'll hold down the fort."

The next morning, they were gone.

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More than a week had passed, and there was still no word from Sam and Teal'c. He knew they'd said it would probably take ten days to arrive at Othalla and contact Thor, but he'd been hoping for something, anything. He wasn't sure he was going to last ten days. No one was allowed through the Stargate until the treaty negotiations over Antarctica were finished, so there weren't even any new artifacts to study or cultures to explain or Goa'uld technology to seek out. So Daniel had pestered Weir daily about going to Antarctica and pored over every Ancient artifact at the SGC and endlessly studied every reference to the Ancients in the mission reports, every word in his own journals, and played over and over each bit of video he'd ever brought back that might, even tangentially, touch on the beings that had created the technology that was keeping Jack alive, but not alive.

But over the last couple of days, he'd found himself, more often than not, staring off into space, and just . . . waiting.

He felt useless. And that made him mad.

So, when a message came through the Stargate from the Goa'uld system lords saying they wanted to negotiate a treaty, at first he could barely bring himself to care. He was so frustrated with the leaders of Earth, so angry that they couldn't put aside their squabbles to save the life of a man who had time and again risked his for them, so furious that their delays had sent the rest of his teammates on what might be a one-way trip to another galaxy, that his first impulse was to say, To hell with them and to hell with the whole planet.

The only problem was, Jack was still on the planet, and so was Cassie, General Hammond, the rest of the people he'd worked and fought side-by-side with for the past eight years, not to mention all the billions who lived in ignorance of the danger and couldn't be blamed for the foolishness of their politicians. So he'd stepped up and done what he could, translating the Goa'uld, providing background, sitting in on the negotiations.

The system lords told them that Ba'al had taken over Anubis's territories and that he posed a grave danger to the galaxy, the system lords included. They claimed to want Earth to help them fight Ba'al, although both Daniel and Weir—Elizabeth, he reminded himself, she wanted him to call her Elizabeth—were fairly certain that they really just wanted to find out if the Ancient weapon was still a threat. He had to admit, Elizabeth had done a spectacular job; despite her protests to the contrary, she was a masterly bluffer. Earth had nothing: no weapon, no Asgard, no chance at all if the system lords were to decide to attack, but they left the meetings still convinced that the Tau'ri could blow any approaching ships to pieces. Elizabeth had even upped the ante, demanding Ba'al's territories for Earth in return for helping them defeat Ba'al.

The only problem was, he didn't think they were going to buy it, and neither did Elizabeth. They were running out of options. Sam and Teal'c had been gone for almost nine days now. If they could hold out a little longer, maybe Thor would make an appearance to save Jack and save the planet while he was at it. One could only hope.

Daniel was thinking this over as he walked into Elizabeth's office.

"Hi," he said. "Anything from Antarctica or Sam and Teal'c? We could use some good news right about now."

Weir looked down at the papers she held and then back up at Daniel. She was having trouble meeting his eyes, and he knew something was very wrong.

"No," she said. "We haven't heard from Sam and Teal'c."

"Antarctica then?" he asked.

Elizabeth forced herself to look directly at Daniel. "I'm sorry, Daniel," she said.

Daniel misunderstood her. "Look, they have to let me go there. It doesn't make sense. Not to be immodest, but I'm the foremost expert, the _only _expert on the Ancients on the planet. . . ."

Weir held up her hand to stop him. "Daniel," she said, "that's not what this is about."

"What then?" Daniel asked.

"The President was concerned at how the negotiations with the system lords were progressing. He believes, and probably rightly so, that at any moment either Ba'al or the system lords themselves will try to call our bluff about the Asgard and the Ancient weapon. . . ."

"And?" Daniel prompted.

"Yesterday he ordered that the medical team in Antarctica try to revive Colonel O'Neill."

Daniel, who had been standing in front of Weir's desk, grabbed it to steady himself. "What?" he asked, stunned. "What? They can't! He wouldn't survive!"

"Daniel. . . ," Weir tried to interrupt.

"No," Daniel went on, undeterred. "Wait. You can't let them. At least give Sam and Teal'c another couple of days to contact the Asgard. We could hear from them by tomorrow! And let me get to Antarctica now. There may be something there that would help Jack or something about a power source for the weapon. It's insane that they haven't let me try to find out before now! We can't. . . ."

"Daniel," Weir began again, "it's too late. I'm sorry."

Daniel reached for the chair behind him and sat down heavily. "What?" he asked, in barely more than a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Daniel. I didn't know anything about this. I swear I would have tried to stop it," Weir apologized again.

"What exactly are you saying, Elizabeth? They already . . . they. . . ?" Daniel stuttered to a stop.

Weir took a deep breath. "They tried to revive Colonel O'Neill early this morning. Soon after, and before they could attempt to communicate with him, he suffered a massive stroke followed by cardiac arrest. They attempted to put him back in stasis, but their knowledge of the technology was not sufficient to stop his. . . ." Weir paused, not wanting to say it but knowing she had to.

"I'm sorry, Daniel. Colonel O'Neill is dead."


	3. Chapter 2

**Warnings:** Major character death(s). Some disturbing images.

**Author's notes:** Again, some of the dialogue in this chapter was taken directly from New Ground (2). Please heed the "disturbing images" warning. And Mary, you and Daniel think alike: This was written beforeyour review....

Chapter 2

Daniel was functioning on automatic pilot. He hadn't slept and he'd barely eaten. He didn't want to believe it; he couldn't believe it. There was no way they could have done what Elizabeth claimed. There was no way they could have murdered Jack. He had done too much, sacrificed too much for it to happen this way. No. It was all part of some elaborate hoax or plan to defeat the Goa'uld. The Asgard would come, bringing Sam and Teal'c with them, they'd find Jack and it would all be O.K.

In the meantime, the so-called negotiations with the system lords had, predictably, gone from bad to worse. They Goa'uld had decided to call their bluff and test their defenses after all and had sent a ship to attack Earth. Daniel had discovered the plot in a coded message, and Weir had ordered the system lords, who were still at the SGC, arrested. Daniel and Elizabeth's next move was going to be to threaten the arrogant yet cowardly snakes with execution for the attack should it go forward, while at the same time continuing the bluff that the weapon and the Asgard would protect Earth.

As they were about to go convey that to the prisoners, though, a message came from the _Prometheus_, which was orbiting Earth in anticipation of the attack.

"Stargate Command, this is Colonel Pendergrast, do you copy?"

"This is Weir, Colonel. We copy. What have you got for us?"

"Good news. An Asgard ship has just dropped out of hyperspace and is offering assistance. Commander Thor sends his greetings."

"That is good news, Colonel," Weir responded, the relief evident on her face. "I will pass that on to our 'guests' with pleasure."

Daniel gestured toward the communications panel in a mute request to speak to Pendergrast. Weir nodded. "Go ahead. I'll meet you in the conference room," she said, and walked from the control room.

Daniel nodded to Walter that he was ready and leaned forward. "Colonel Pendergrast. This is Daniel Jackson. Did you speak to Major Carter or Teal'c?"

"Negative, Dr. Jackson. We only spoke to Commander Thor. He didn't mention them. Would you like us to raise them?"

"Yes. Welcome them back for me. Tell them, tell them. . . ." His voice cracked a little and he hesitated. Please don't make me have to tell them that Jack is dead, he thought. "Tell them we have to talk."

"Yes, sir, Dr. Jackson," Pendergrast responded, and then, "Hold on. We're getting something else. Yes, O.K. . . . Dr. Jackson, we have just received word that Ba'al has destroyed the ship the system lords sent. Ba'al's ship is still approaching."

Daniel pushed everything else from his mind once more. First he had to finish this. Jack and his years on SG-1 had taught him that: Complete the mission; fall apart later. "I'll tell Dr. Weir," he confirmed. "Thanks, Colonel."

Daniel left for the conference room. He'd see the system lords squirm at the news that the Asgard had arrived and that their ship had been destroyed; Ba'al would back off when he detected Thor's ship; and then, finally, Daniel could find out what the hell had really happened to Jack.

He entered the conference room as Elizabeth was saying, "I have just received word that the Asgard have arrived. They want to witness the demonstration of our new Ancient defense technology that you have forced us into. There's still time to call off the attack." 

The Goa'uld Amaterasu obviously thought they were still bluffing and said with her usual arrogance, "We would also like to witness the demonstration. "

Daniel decided that now would be a good time to share his news: "Your ship isn't coming," he said. "It was destroyed en route by Ba'al. The collective forces of the system lords are bowing, and you're losing the war."

Yu was responding, "And so are you," obviously also unconvinced that the tables had been turned, when Daniel was enveloped in the familiar flash of an Asgard transport beam.

As he found himself rematerialized on the bridge of the Asgard ship, he thought, "Well, if that doesn't convince them. . . ."

He looked around, seeing only Thor.

"Thor, hi," he said. "Thanks for coming. Where are Sam and Teal'c? They told you about Jack, right? We need to find him right away. They might have already. . . ."

"Dr. Jackson," Thor interrupted. "Your Colonel Pendergrast was also under the impression that Teal'c and Major Carter were aboard this vessel. I however have not seen either one of your teammates. I would have brought them here as well but have been unable to determine their location. I am here in response to a subspace message we received in the Ida galaxy. I apologize for our delay in responding to your request for aid. Our own situation with the replicators is dire, and I was only able to persuade the others that I should come here because I believe the greatest hope for our race lies in the Ancient knowledge the message said was again stored in O'Neill's mind."

"Wait," Daniel said, almost stupidly. "That message was from Sam and Teal'c. They aren't with you? They took a ship to Othalla to find you."

"That is disturbing news, Dr. Jackson," Thor said. "We also received a distress signal from the area. When one of our fleet responded, however, there was no sign of a vessel. Our commander surmised that the ship which sent the signal was destroyed when it came within the gravitational field of the black hole. If that ship was piloted by Major Carter and Teal'c, that is truly a great loss to both our races."

Daniel put a shaky hand up to his head. Oh, God, he thought. Sam. Teal'c.

"Thor," Daniel almost pleaded, "we need to search for them. They can't just be gone. This is Sam and Teal'c. They would have figured something out. You know them."

"We will continue to scan for them, but I am afraid we can do no more. Our forces are already stretched thin in our war with the replicators, a war we are losing. I am sorry, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel felt the trembling from his hand start to spread and he recognized the beginning of shock. Jack. Focus on Jack. There still had to be a chance. . . .

"Thor, Jack is in Antarctica. Can you bring him here?"

"Yes," Thor responded. "I will attempt to retrieve Colonel O'Neill now." Thor walked over to one of the computer consoles and looked at the screen. "I have detected Colonel O'Neill's locator," he confirmed. "However, I cannot detect O'Neill himself. I am afraid this indicates that either his locator has been removed or that O'Neill has not survived. I will transport now."

"Jack," Daniel breathed, knowing despite himself which answer was the truth. "God, Jack."

The light of the transport beam appeared over a table on the bridge and then disappeared.

Daniel let out a sound that even he didn't recognize and took a step back. No. No. No.

"I am sorry Dr. Jackson," Thor said. "I regret that we have come too late. He was a great man and will be remembered as such by the Asgard should we survive."

When Daniel didn't respond, Thor said, "Dr. Jackson. If I had known that O'Neill's body was undergoing this procedure, this. . . ."

"Autopsy," Daniel supplied hoarsely, not recognizing his own voice.

"This autopsy," Thor continued, "I would not have brought him here."

Daniel continued to stare at the mutilated body of his friend. His chest and abdomen had been sliced down the center and gaped open, his organs gone, and the back of his skull had been sawed away, exposing his brain. Daniel felt his knees give, and he dropped to the floor. He thought he was going to be sick, but he managed to hold it back. The bastards, he thought. They had really done it. They'd killed Jack.

"Thor," he said, finally, looking up from his knees, "could you please cover him with something. I can't. . . . Just, please, do you have something?"

Thor blinked at him, then reached down and pressed a panel on his console. An opaque partition rose from the table and surrounded Jack's body, hiding it from view.

Daniel continued to stare toward the table. He grabbed onto a partition and pulled himself up. His body felt strange, heavy and light at the same time, as if he'd been flooded with some strange alien drug. Thor was talking again, and he tried to focus on the words, but they slipped by and around him, and he couldn't make out their meaning. The voice in his own head was much clearer. They killed Jack, it whispered. They killed Jack. Weir was right. They killed Jack. They killed Jack. And an even quieter voice chanted beneath that one, Sam and Teal'c are dead, Sam and Teal'c are dead. . . .

"Dr. Jackson?" Thor's voice broke through.

Daniel looked at him numbly. Thor, Jack's friend too.

"I regret that I must leave and rejoin the battle against the replicators," Thor said. "We have already contacted Ba'al, and his ship has turned away from your solar system. He now believes the Asgard still enforce the treaty, so Earth should remain safe for the time being. I cannot guarantee the future, however. The survival of the Asgard remains uncertain at best. I fear the knowledge held by Colonel O'Neill that is now lost may have been our last hope."

Daniel closed his eyes. He realized that Thor was saying goodbye and that he did not believe the Asgard would survive this last battle with the replicators. In all likelihood Daniel would never see this strange, kind and brilliant being again. "I'm sorry, Thor. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I had an answer. If. . . . if Sam, Teal'c or Jack were here, they would be able to help, but I . . . I don't know what to do."

"Dr. Jackson," Thor said, "do not underestimate your value to your world or indeed to the Asgard. You are equally revered by the Asgard for your insights and contributions to our survival. The ship you stand on is called _The Daniel Jackson _for that reason."

Daniel looked around at the great ship he stood on and back at Thor, and shook his head. There were so many things wrong with that, he didn't know where to begin.

"Perhaps you can perform one last service for the Asgard, Dr. Jackson," Thor said, when Daniel didn't respond.

Daniel closed his eyes. He was so tired. What could he possibly do? Still, he said, "I'll do whatever I can, Thor."

"Thank you, Dr. Jackson. There may be useful information stored in the Ancient lab you discovered on Earth. The Asgard people would be most grateful if you could request permission from your leaders that we be granted access to this information."

"You don't need permission, Thor. Just take it. Take what you need," Daniel answered wearily.

"I am afraid that would violate the agreement we made with your people. The Asgard honor our treaties."

Honor? Daniel wanted to laugh at the word, but it came out as more of a sob. "Thor," he said, "the people you want me to ask are the people who murdered Jack. The entire _planet_ could have been destroyed because of their petty squabbling. They don't deserve your respect and they don't deserve to have their treaties honored. Your entire race is facing extinction. Just take what you need. Help your people, and if you succeed, I trust you to return and help mine."

Thor was silent as he considered what Daniel had said. He nodded once and went to a control panel and entered several commands.

"I have done as you suggested, Dr. Jackson. You have my word that, should we discover anything that could be of use to Earth, we will transmit that information immediately to the SGC. As this was in your possession in the first place, I do not believe such an action would be seen to violate our treaty with the Goa'uld."

Daniel nodded. "I hope you find what you need, Thor."

"Thank you, Dr. Jackson," Thor said. "I must leave now. I have been away from the battle for far too long. I will transport you now to your SGC, unless you choose to go elsewhere. Would you like to take the body of O'Neill, or should I return it to the Ancient lab?"

"No, God, no!" Daniel said, appalled at the idea of letting those vultures anywhere near Jack again. "Just, just. . . ."

Daniel stopped. Just what? he thought. Just what? He felt a wave of dizziness and then a chill even as he broke out in a cold sweat. Shock, he thought again. Maybe he should just let it take him. Instead, he told Thor, "Just send us both to the infirmary."

And before he could wish the Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet luck, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The limousine pulled up to the guard house at the Cheyenne Mountain complex. The guard, Bindermann, stepped out as the black-tinted window went down and was pleased and surprised to see General Hammond looking out at him. He gave a broad smiled. The gentlemanly Texan had always treated the men and women on guard duty with the utmost respect, and Bindermann, for one, had missed the man when he'd left.

"General Hammond! Good to see you, sir," the guard proclaimed.

Hammond looked back out at him and gave a strained smile. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said, but nothing more. Bindermann immediately put on what he thought of as his professional guard face. From the general's expression, clearly something big—and unpleasant—was going down beneath the mountain.

Bindermann walked up to the driver's window and took the man's I.D., then looked past him into the limo to make sure there were no other passengers. "Please open the trunk, Airman Connors," he requested. Other VIPs might bristle at the security precautions taken here, but the sergeant knew that General Hammond would not only expect protocol to be followed but would insist on it, no matter how grim or urgent his mission was.

Having checked that all was secure, Bindermann called the base to get permission for the general to proceed, again protocol for everyone entering the mountain who didn't work there and who was not on that day's list, even the man who was again, for all intents and purposes if the rumors could be believed, their boss.

Having received the word, Bindermann waived the general's limousine on through.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Hammond had been outraged almost beyond reason when he was informed of the President's order. President Hayes had only just put him in charge of all things related to Earth's defense, and yet the man had acted without consulting him. And now Jack O'Neill, his friend and the finest officer he had ever had the privilege to command, was dead.

He would have resigned on the spot, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon the rest of the men and women under his command in such perilous times.

Hammond, usually not a swearing man, cursed out loud and slammed his hand down on the seat, causing the airman driving the limo to glance back in concern. Hammond almost snapped at him to keep his eyes forward, but then took a deep breath to control his temper. He had never taken his stress and anger out on his people, and he wasn't going to start now. But truthfully, this was almost too much to handle. Jack was dead, and now, if the reports he received were correct, Teal'c and Major Carter—who in his heart would always be Jacob's little girl, God help him—were MIA and presumed dead.

After all these years, SG-1's luck had finally run out.

Well there was one member of his makeshift extended family left, and he would be damned if he'd leave Dr. Jackson to the wolves. And yes, those wolves were already circling, howling for blood.

Hammond got off the elevator and signed in at the last security desk. He nodded briskly at the greetings, but he did not have to pretend here. Despite another last-minute reprieve from destruction by the Goa'uld, there was no evidence of joy. The news of Colonel O'Neill's death and the disappearance of Major Carter and Teal'c hung over the subterranean hallways like a pall.

"General Hammond, sir," a familiar voice said, and he turned to see Walter Harriman coming toward him.

"Walter," Hammond said. He saw his own pain reflected in the chief master sergeant's eyes, and he looked away momentarily before turning back and saying, sincerely, "It's good to see you, son."

Walter gave a small smile and said, "You too, sir. If you'll come with me, Dr. Weir is waiting for you in her office.

Hammond followed Walter down the hallway and up the staircase to what, until very recently, had been _his_ office. Dr. Weir rose to greet him. "General," she said. "It's good to see you again. I'm sorry it's under such difficult circumstances. Please have a seat."

"Dr. Weir," Hammond greeted her. "Yes, tragic circumstances."

They both sat down, and there was an awkward silence as General Hammond considered the woman before him. He knew she was at the top of the list of candidates to lead the Atlantis expedition, in no small part because of the way she had handled herself in the negotiations with the system lords. She was obviously smart and extremely competent, but he still didn't know enough about her to know if he could trust her. And even if he did trust her, was it fair to involve her in something that could at the very least derail her career and at the most land her in federal prison?

Weir cleared her throat. "So, General, what brings you here today?"

Hammond decided it was best to involve as few people as possible.

"First, Doctor," he said, "I would like to congratulate you on the superb job you did in the negotiations with the system lords. I don't think anyone could have handled them better, and thanks to your diplomatic skills and your unique ability to bluff, the planet has survived another day."

"Thank you, sir. I had a lot of help from Dr. Jackson and the rest of the SGC personnel. And if anyone is to thank for saving the planet, it is Major Carter and Teal'c. If they had not contacted the Asgard, I'm not sure we'd be here having this conversation."

Hammond sighed. She was right in that. SG-1 had, almost by accident this time, saved the planet again. Carter's and Teal'c's quixotic mission to another galaxy to find a means to rescue Colonel O'Neill had brought the Asgard to Earth in time to stop Ba'al. It was S.O.P. for the members of the SGC's premier team, except that, this time, it looked as if they really weren't coming back.

Something of his emotions must have played across his face, because Dr. Weir said, "I'm sorry, General. I know how close you were . . . are . . . to your people here. I can't imagine how hard this must be."

"Occupational hazard," Hammond said, not really believing his own words, but needing to distance himself from his own emotions and Weir's concern. "You learn to live with it." He cleared his throat. "However, I did think that my presence here might help. Colonel O'Neill was well respected and very popular with the men and women here, and SG-1. . . . Well, I assume morale is not at its highest point right now."

"No. It's very low. Colonel O'Neill's death and the failure of Major Carter and Teal'c to return have hit everyone very hard. I'm sure they will appreciate your being here. They obviously look up to you, sir." Weir smiled a little wryly. "You left some pretty big shoes to fill. . . ."

Hammond smiled sadly back. "You've done very well here, Dr. Weir. I'm sure you've gained everyone's respect and good wishes."

"I'm working on it, General. At any rate, would you like me to gather the personnel who can be spared in the Gateroom? Or would you prefer to speak to people individually, where you can?"

"I think I'd like you to assemble everyone, Doctor, but first,I'd think I'd like to speak with Dr. Jackson. Is he still in the infirmary?"

"No. He was released this morning. He was suffering from exhaustion—he apparently had barely slept or eaten in days—trauma and shock. Fortunately he got himself to the infirmary in time. Now all he needs is rest, at least physically. Emotionally. . . ." Weir let her words drift off.

Hammond winced. "Have you talked to him?"

Weir sighed. "Yes. He gave me a brief report about what happened aboard Thor's ship and about how he came to . . . be in possession of Colonel O'Neill's remains. And he told me that we need to find the Tok'ra or find some other way to search for Major Carter and Teal'c. Then this morning, he came to my office just after he was released and begged me to let him go through the Stargate to search for any technology or any of our allies who could help us reach the Ida galaxy. He . . . didn't take it very well when I had to turn down his request."

Hammond could well imagine the desperation in Daniel's voice and his single-minded search for a way to put what was left of his team back together, and it pained him to think of it.

"He believes Major Carter and Teal'c are alive," he stated, not really surprised by the revelation. The members of SG-1 never gave up on each other, and they had all cheated death—or returned from the dead—time and time again.

"I think he needs to believe it, General. I don't think he really believed Colonel O'Neill was dead until he saw. . . ." Weir stopped and swallowed to keep the bile down. She had seen O'Neill's body in the infirmary. It was no wonder that Dr. Jackson had collapsed when the Asgard beam released him. And to have just found out on top of that that his other teammates were likely dead. . . .

Hammond had read the report, and more, and understood why Weir had stopped. "Do you know where Dr. Jackson is now?" he asked.

"No. I do know he hasn't left the base, but I haven't seen him for several hours."

Hammond nodded and started to stand. "With your permission," he said, "I think I'd like to try to find him. Perhaps you could lend me CMS Harriman to help?"

Weir nodded back, a little surprised and touched that a four-star general would want to search the base himself. "Of course, General," she said. "And anything else you need, feel free to ask." As she watched him leave, with Walter already at his side, she thought she understood a little more about why the men and women of the SGC revered the man so and a little more about what made the place tick. "_Very_ big shoes to fill," she murmured, before returning to the report on her desk. "Very big shoes."

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

After they had checked Daniel's office and the commissary, Walter said, "General, sir, I might be wrong about this, but there's a place Dr. Jackson sometimes goes to think, when things get, well, really bad. It's several more levels down, and it might be a wild-goose chase, but. . . ." He waited for General Hammond to assent to what might be a waste of time.

"It sounds as if it's worth taking a look," Hammond said, motioning him to lead on. They went back to the elevator, and Walter pushed the button for one of the lower storage areas. "There's nothing down there but emergency supplies and empty rooms, Sergeant," Hammond said.

"Yes, sir," was Walter's only reply.

They rode the elevator the rest of the way in silence. The doors opened on a dim corridor, and Walter turned right and led them past several doors and large crates, then turned left down another long, empty hallway containing more closed doors, with labels identifying their contents, on both sides. About halfway down, a door stood slightly ajar. Hammond glanced at the label and raised his eyebrows when he saw what was written there. Walter just shrugged a little. "OBSOLETE," the sign said.

Hammond pushed open the door slightly and looked inside. The room, lit only by the dim bulbs of the hallway, was filled with boxes of what he supposed were old supplies. Against the far wall, with crates piled high on either side, he saw the unmoving figure of a man sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, head down. Hammond stuck his head back out the door and nodded to Walter. Walter nodded back and walked quietly away down the hall.

Hammond pushed the door farther open and stepped inside. The figure did not move or look up. "Dr. Jackson?" he said quietly, and when there was no reaction, he repeated, "Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel remained unmoving, lost in a place Hammond didn't want to fathom. He briefly wondered how hard sitting on the cold supply room floor would be on his aching bones, then walked over to Daniel. He turned and slid down the wall so they were sitting side-by-side. Only then did Daniel look up, startled. "What? Who. . . ? General?" he asked, as if he weren't quite sure he was there.

"Yes, son. It's me."

Daniel looked around at the piles of boxes and the dusty floor and started to get up. "I'm sorry, General. You shouldn't be. . . ."

"It's all right, Dr. Jackson. Please sit down."

Daniel, perhaps sensing that Hammond needed his company as much as Daniel needed his, slid back down to the floor and leaned his head back against the wall, and the two men sat silently, thinking of their lost friends.

"Do you think," Daniel asked suddenly, "that the real Daniel could have saved them somehow?"

Hammond looked at the exhausted civilian sitting next to him. "The real Daniel?" he asked, utterly confused.

"You know, the Daniel from before I-" Daniel fluttered his fingers in the air above his head.

Somehow this question made Hammond sadder than almost any other could have. Even though it was barely more than a year since Dr. Jackson had "descended," it hadn't occurred to him that Daniel was still struggling with what had happened, still trying to reclaim his identity. He had a brief vision of Daniel alone on a wooden raft, adrift on a stormy sea trailing three ropes hanging loose from their moorings.

"Dr. Jackson." he said. "Daniel. I know you don't always feel that way, but let me assure you, you are the same brilliant, passionate, _com_passionate man you always were. You may still have some missing memories, but you are very much the Daniel Jackson I remember. I was and still am proud to know you."

Daniel ducked his head and turned away. Hammond thought he saw him wipe his eyes, but he couldn't be sure, and the general felt tears sting his own eyes. He wondered how long it had been since he'd cried. He thought not since his dear Margaret had died, but this newest loss had hit him hard, and the palpable suffering of the young—or not so young anymore, he reminded himself—man sitting next to him cut him further.

"Dr. Jackson," he started again. "There was nothing you could have done. Nothing—no one—could have made those government representatives move faster on Antarctica, and you couldn't have known that the President would give that order. _I _didn't know, and I had met with him earlier in the day."

"Maybe not," Daniel said, "but I should have found some way to get back to Antarctica. Or I should have talked Sam and Teal'c out of leaving. Or insisted that I go with them. Maybe my being there would have made a difference. But instead, I was stuck here, and now they're. . . . How could they do that, General? How could they leave me behind? Was I not good enough? Didn't they know I would give, would have given anything, _anything_ to save Jack?" Daniel's voice rose, anger mixing with his grief and guilt.

"They knew, son. Of course they knew," Hammond responded.

Daniel let his head drop forward, so he was staring at his own lap. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just. . . ." He stopped talking and shook his head, the linguist for once unable to put what he was feeling into words.

The two men sat again in silence.

Finally, Hammond said, reluctantly, "Dr. Jackson, I need to ask you some questions."

Daniel looked up at Hammond's tone. He straightened up a little and tried to prepare himself for more bad news.

"I read your report of how you managed to bring Colonel O'Neill's remains back to the SGC," the general continued.

Daniel, who had been trying without success to keep the vision of Jack's body from replaying endlessly in his mind, didn't say anything.

"Did you request that Thor bring the colonel's remains aboard his vessel?"

Daniel closed his eyes. He didn't see how any of this could possibly matter. Jack was dead. Everything else was . . . useless clutter.

"I didn't know it would be Jack's body, but, yes, I did ask Thor to bring him aboard," he finally said.

"You didn't know it would be Colonel O'Neill's body?"

Daniel laughed a hollow laugh. "I hoped, I thought, that maybe the report of his death was some kind of hoax or trick. Nothing else made sense to me. Why would they try to revive Jack when we told them it would kill him? What was the point? So I thought, if Jack was still alive, and maybe even if he wasn't, Thor could . . . fix him."

"And when you realized he couldn't?" Hammond asked. "Did you consider sending the body back?"

"To the people who murdered him? No, no, I never considered that."

Hammond looked over sharply at the word _murdered. _Daniel looked back at him, unflinchingly, until Hammond sighed and looked away again. As furious as he was at what happened to Colonel O'Neill, he had filed it away with the long list of the wrongheaded decisions that men in power make that result in the unnecessary deaths of soldiers and civilians alike. To think the way Dr. Jackson did could lead to madness for a career officer. But to a civilian, even one who'd been fighting on the front lines for years? Yes, it would seem like murder. He thought that might go a long way toward explaining what else happened on Thor's ship.

"Very well," he said. "However, Thor apparently removed more than Colonel O'Neill's body from the Ancient outpost. Were you aware of this?"

Daniel looked again at the general. Was he being accused of something?

"What's this all about, General?" he asked tiredly.

"Dr. Jackson, were you aware that Thor retrieved data and some technology directly from the Antarctica site without permission, in violation of the Asgard treaty with us?" the general asked, not unkindly.

"Yes," Daniel said simply. "I told him to take what he needed."

"Dr. Jackson. . . ."

"The Asgard are facing extinction, General. If the writings left by the Ancients could help prevent that, how could we say no? There was no time to wait for those idiots to stop bickering and make some decisions. Thor wanted to honor the treaty. I told him not to bother."

"And did you think that was your decision to make?"

Daniel was silent.

"Dr. Jackson," Hammond said, "if the key to Earth's survival lies in the information Thor took?"

Daniel took off his glasses and pressed his palms into his eyes. "I think these last few days have shown that Earth's survival depends a lot more on the Asgard than on anything else we might discover in Antarctica," he said quietly. "And Thor agreed that if he found anything useful to Earth, he would transmit it to us immediately."

"And if the Asgard, God forbid, don't survive, and the information dies with them?"

"He'd find a way to get it to us."

Hammond sighed. "Dr. Jackson, our battle with Anubis, followed so closely by another threat to the planet from Ba'al, has caused a panic among some in our government and among the world leaders who are now aware of the Stargate and the Antarctica outpost. I understand why you did what you did, but there are some people in these overcharged times who consider it treason."

"Treason," Daniel said, flatly.

"In effect, Dr. Jackson, you leaked top-secret information."

"To the Asgard, who are our allies and who could have taken the information on their own."

"Dr Jackson, these people are afraid and are looking for a scapegoat. Facts are not that important to them. There has already been talk of an investigation and imprisonment or worse from some quarters. My sources tell me that at least one official suggested quite seriously that we give you a choice between execution for treason and some sort of indentured servitude where you would be locked up and forced to translate for us for the rest of your life. And if history is any predictor, I am sure other less savory elements in and outside the government are hoping to use this latest incident as an excuse to have you kidnapped or even eliminated."

Daniel ran his hands tiredly through his hair. _Treason_, he thought again. An ugly word. _Eliminated. _ Another ugly word. "And you, General? Are you here to have me arrested?" he asked.

Hammond was silent for a moment as he studied the man whose brilliance and passion seemed to have led inexorably to this point.

"No, Dr. Jackson. I'm here to tell you I think you need to disappear."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Daniel stood up and turned toward Hammond, shock evident on his face even in the near darkness of the room. "Disappear? I don't understand. What do you mean disappear?"

"I mean I believe you need to go into hiding."

"What? No. I can't. Sam and Teal'c are out there somewhere. I need to find them. And Cassie, who would watch out for Cassie with all of us gone? She's going to be devastated by this news."

"Dr. Jackson. . . ," Hammond tried to interrupt.

"After I talk to Cassie, I can go to P3X-241, the planet where. . . ."

"Dr. Jackson, please. "

Daniel drew in a deep breath and stopped talking..

"You must know that you won't be allowed near the Stargate, Dr. Jackson. Right now Gate operations are still suspended, and I expect an order at any time confining you to the base until charges can be filed. That's why I'm here now.

"I promise you that I won't stop trying to find out what happened to Major Carter and Teal'c. We will use whatever resources we have. But, son. . . ." Hammond stopped, not wanting to say it himself. "Son, you realize that the odds against their having survived without leaving a trace for the Asgard to find are . . . not good."

"We're SG-1, General! We've beaten those odds again and again!"

"I hope you're right, Dr. Jackson, but the fact remains that if you stay here, your freedom and possibly your life are at risk. You can't help Teal'c and Major Carter if you are imprisoned or dead. And as for Cassie, I promise I will look out for her myself. Imagine how much worse she would feel if you stayed and something happened. You don't have much time, Dr. Jackson. You have to take advantage of the temporary chaos this most recent threat has caused and find someplace to go before charges are filed and you are arrested."

"All right, then, if not through the Gate, I'll contact the _Prometheus_, and they can transport me out. If I can't be here for Cassie, at least off-world I'll have some chance of helping Sam and Teal'c. I know we're not supposed to be moving personnel off Earth right now, but I'll think of something to get Elizabeth to let me go, someone I have to talk to onboard, something, then I'm sure I can talk Colonel Pendergrast into putting me down on a planet with a Gate. . . ."

Hammond almost allowed himself a small smile despite the grim circumstances. It was all so familiar: Dr. Jackson, arguing fervently for what he believed was right, eyes blazing. He wished he could say yes to the man one more time, wished he could give him some small bit of hope, but to do that would endanger his life, and Hammond was not prepared to lose Daniel the way he'd lost the others.

"Assuming you could talk them into it, Dr. Jackson, and I don't doubt that you could, have you considered the consequences to Dr. Weir and Colonel Pendergrast if they were to violate explicit orders against off-world travel to help you flee charges of treason?"

"They wouldn't know that's what they were doing. And that's not what I'd be doing. I don't give a damn about the treason charges. I just can't be trapped here, waiting, while Teal'c and Sam might be out there somewhere needing help. Weir and Pendergrast can't be held accountable for. . . ." Daniel, who'd been gesturing wildly, stopped talking and let his hands drop to his sides. Of course they could, he thought. They could be held accountable and they would be. Lose one scapegoat, find two others.

Daniel ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "If I did this, General, how long would I have to be . . . gone?"

"I can't answer that, Dr. Jackson. It could be a very long time, if ever, before you could safely return."

Daniel swayed slightly and steadied himself on one of the crates. General Hammond's eyes were filled with understanding as he watched the man he'd come to think of as almost a surrogate son struggle with what he'd been told. Finally, Daniel stepped forward and reached out his hand, and Hammond clasped it and pulled himself stiffly to his feet.

"Thank you for coming here to tell me this, General," Daniel said, sounding defeated. "I know you risked a lot to do it. I'm just not sure if I can run, not now."

"I understand, son. And if you decide to stay, I'll do everything in my power to protect you, although I fear that nothing I do will be enough. If you decide to leave, you have to do it soon." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small scrap of paper and held it out to Daniel. I can't help you hide, son, but these people might be able to. I wish I could do more."

Daniel took the paper and looked at it. There were two phone numbers scrawled there, one international, one domestic, Montana he thought. He slipped the paper into his pocket but didn't say anything. Hammond was not sure he'd ever seen a man look so lost.

"I know it's a lot to think about," he said. "Whatever you decide to do, I'm on your side. I need to go up now, though. I promised Dr. Weir I'd address the staff. Would you like to come with me?"

Daniel shook his head. "No, I'll be up later. I . . . I have to think," he said.

Hammond reached out and touched Daniel's arm. "I'm sorry, son," he said, then turned and walked out the door.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Daniel remained in the darkened supply room. He took his spot again between the crates and tried to process everything the general had said and everything that had happened in the last two days, but it wasn't possible. It was too much, too fast. All he knew was that he couldn't run. He couldn't abandon his team and he couldn't abandon Cassie. But what were his options? Arrest? Execution? Involuntary servitude for life? An unexpected bullet in the head?

God, Jack, he thought. What should I do? And the reality of Jack's death hit him again, the force of it making him bend forward and curl into himself. God. He only knew one way to deal with pain like that and it was to throw himself into a cause, to remember that there were people who needed him. Sam and Teal'c needed him, he thought. Cassie needed him. Once, the last time, when Sha're died, he could convince himself that Earth needed him, but no longer. That was arrogance, chutzpah, a child's dream. Earth would live or die without him. The Abydonians, the Asgard, everything died, and he was just a gnat buzzing around the ear of fate.

He saw an image of his parents crushed beneath the cover stone and remembered the helplessness that felt so familiar now, and a thought suddenly occurred to him that, in its simplicity, its spectacular obviousness, made him start to laugh.

Oh, God, he was such a simpleton. Is that what this was all about? He couldn't save his parents, so he'd spent the last seven years of his life trying to save the fucking universe! Oh, God, what an idiot! Save the universe? He couldn't even save himself. He thought of the Asgard naming a ship the _Daniel Jackson_ and he laughed harder until tears came to his eyes and the laughter, finally, turned to sobs, and he cried for Jack and Sam and Teal'c and for everyone else he'd lost, and he despised himself even more then, because he realized he wasn't crying just for them but for himself, that the one thought that consumed all the others was the same one he'd first had so long ago, the day he realized his parents were never coming back. Years of making his own way, of traveling the universe, of fighting the war against the Goa'uld, of _ascending_, none of it could quiet that child's voice in his head: _Please_, it repeated over and over, _please don't leave me alone_.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It was late by the time Daniel finally exited the elevator on the floor near his office. Most of the civilian staff was already gone for the day, and the corridors were quiet, for which he was thankful. He knew people meant well, but he couldn't bear to see their sympathetic gazes or lie again and again to those who asked how he was holding up, saying whatever he could think of just to make them go away.

He kept his head down and made it to his office with only one mumbled, "I'm hanging in there," grateful for the silence and averted faces of the few others he passed. He slipped into his office and closed the door with relief, leaning against it as if he'd just run a gantlet, then made his way to the phone. He picked it up and asked for Elizabeth.

"Weir here."

"Elizabeth, it's Daniel."

"Daniel, you had us a little worried. General Hammond hoped that you might be there when he spoke to the rest of the SGC personnel."

"I'm sorry about that. Look, Elizabeth, I'm going to take you up on your suggestion to take a few days, or at least a day. If you need me, I'll be at home."

"I think that's a good idea, Daniel. Take as long as you need. Only . . . don't take this the wrong way, but do you have anyone to stay with you?"

Daniel blew out an exasperated breath, and told the lie one more time. "I'll be fine, Elizabeth. I'm a big boy."

Daniel sensed her uncertainty in the silence before she answered, but she said only, "O.K., but let us know if you need anything."

"I will. And you let me know if you reach the Tok'ra or hear from the Asgard. I'm not giving up on them, Elizabeth."

"I understand, Daniel. We won't either. I'll see you in a couple of days, then."

Daniel hung up the phone. From what the general had said, he didn't think he had a couple of days, but he hoped that one night at home, in his own bed, might help him come up with a plan to hold the wolves at bay until he could find his teammates. And maybe in the morning he would drive the five hours to see Cassie and let her know what had happened. He thought he could do at least that, couldn't he?

Out of habit, he checked the papers on his desk before he left, and his eyes fell on the last thing he'd been working on before the system lords had contacted them: yet another, well-reasoned, rational plea to let him go to Antarctica to try to save Jack. He stared at it, unblinking, as if it were an artifact of a different age, and he guessed it was. Already he felt the man who had written those words slipping away. He put his hand over the sheets of paper and crumpled them into a ball in the middle of his desk. Then he grabbed his jacket and headed out of the mountain.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Daniel sat in his car outside his house, the engine still running, not entirely sure how he'd gotten there or how long he'd been sitting there; he didn't even remember driving home, only getting into his car and pulling out onto the mountain road. His thoughts still spun relentlessly, like a multitude of opposing voices, and he shook his head to try to clear it. He was no good to anyone this way. He needed to make himself eat something, if he could find anything in the house, and he needed to sleep, although God only knew how that would be possible. His friends faces floated before his eyes, and he closed them for a few seconds before he turned off the ignition, got out of the car and walked tiredly up to the front door of his house.

Daniel fumbled for his house keys, almost dropping them, then opened the door. He reached his right hand around to turn on the light and stepped into the small entrance hallway, ignoring the small pile of mail on the floor. Something felt different about the house, but everything looked the same as he had left it. He shrugged slightly, knowing exhaustion was playing tricks on his mind, dropped his keys in the bowl on small table and walked into the still dark living room. And froze. A figure was sitting on the couch across the room.

No, not now, not yet! he thought. He started to back toward his front door when a voice came from behind him, polite and without inflection.

"Please stay where you are, Dr. Jackson. You have no hope of escape."

A light flicked on in the living room, revealing another man sitting in the chair by the couch, his hand still on the lamp switch. Both the man on the couch and the one in the chair were well dressed, in suit and tie, and both held guns in their hands. Once it would have bothered Daniel that he knew the make and caliber of the weapons, but now it was just one more detail he registered automatically. The men held them with seeming casualness, but Daniel had seen that supposed casualness before, not often, but enough, with military men who had lived at some time in a darker world than most. He'd seen it with Jack.

He looked back over his shoulder to see the third man, and his eyes widened in recognition before he looked away. Jordan? No, Jorgans, Lieutenant Jorgans, one of the SGC security guys. He wasn't in uniform, but there was no mistaking him. He'd worked at Stargate Command for years.

"Nothing personal, Dr. Jackson," Jorgans said when he saw Daniel's look. "I happen to disagree, but the men I work for believe you are a dangerous man and need to be . . . contained."

Daniel didn't say anything. A week ago he would have tried to engage them, annoy them, distract them with words, or at least commented on the man's choice of euphemism, but a week ago he'd still, despite everything, believed, in miracles. A week ago he still had his team. Now, he just waited.

Jorgans must have made some sign, because the man on the couch, a large man in his 40s with thick blond hair (not military anymore, Daniel thought, another fact registered), slipped his gun inside his jacket and stood up, moving with surprising grace for such a big man. The man on the chair, younger, smaller, with dark hair and vaguely Asian features, shifted slightly toward Daniel but otherwise didn't move. The big man, a barely perceptible smile on his face, reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe.

Daniel took a step backward and felt the metal of Jorgans's gun against his back. The dark-haired man, seeing Daniel's movement, stood up and walked around to Daniel's left. There was no sign of nervousness or satisfaction in the men, no sign that they either underestimated or overestimated Daniel's skills, no sign of any emotion at all except for the blond man's small smile.

Daniel realized he was staring at the needle and forced his eyes away. _Think,_ he ordered himself. _Think. What are your options?. . ._ _Let them drug me?_ _Not good. Attack the guy with the needle when he comes near? Make a move on Jorgans now?_ He shifted his eyes toward the dark-haired man, hoping to see him watching the man with the hypo, but the lithe man's eyes were on him. Daniel had no doubt that his chances of escaping were zero. _Options_, he thought. _Hypo or death._

Jorgans, as if reading Daniel's mind, said almost conversationally, "I wouldn't try anything, Dr. Jackson. We won't kill you, but we will hurt you very badly. Consider it part of your training. It's your mind they want. They won't care if we snap your spine."

Daniel couldn't hide his shiver at the coldness of the man's words. How did he not realize, after everything, how much evil was in his own world? He'd have to _make_ them kill him then, he thought, because he sure as hell wasn't going with them.

Inanely, at that moment Mark Antony's words drifted through his head, and he spoke for the first time since he'd entered his house:

"The evil that men do lives after them," he said. "The good is often interred with their bones." He supposed it was as good an epithet as any.

The blond man hesitated slightly and the dark-haired man blinked, and Daniel took his chance. He threw himself backward at Jorgans, knocking the gun sideways, and he heard heard it skitter across the hardwood floor as he went down hard on top of the other man.

Jorgans swore, losing his composure for the first time, and tried to throw Daniel off of him, but Daniel jabbed back hard with his elbow, and he heard a satisfying crack as he caught the man in the nose. He rolled off Jorgans and started to rise, but the blond was already there. He couldn't get to his feet in time, so he let the bigger man come, sticking his arms up at the last moment, in a move Sam had taught him, and propelled the man over the top of him. He started to jump to his feet, but by then the dark-haired man was on him. Daniel swung his arm out to try to catch him off-balance, but the man grabbed his arm and in a deft move that Daniel, after all his years of training could never hope to imitate, twisted his arm hard behind his back, swinging him around, then swept his foot under Daniel's legs and flipped him face-down to the ground. Then the man's knee was in his back, and Daniel's arm was pulled up so high he was pretty sure another inch would dislocate his shoulder.

Daniel stopped struggling and was still, for a moment the only sound that of his harsh breathing.

"You do have a reputation for not listening, Dr. Jackson," Jorgans said. He voice was changed, but he spoke calmly, as if he hadn't just had his nose broken by a man he was trying to kidnap. "My mistake for not being more prepared."

Daniel heard a rustling from in front of him and he looked up to see the blond man squat in front of him.

"Please don't be concerned, Dr. Jackson. My colleague here knows exactly what to do. He's done it. before," Jorgans said.

Daniel, whose heart was already pounding, felt panic take hold and he started to struggle again. He tried to kick and twist his body to knock the other man off, but the man only pulled his arm up another fraction of an inch, sending more pain through his shoulder and back. Then the blond man reached down and put his hands on either side of Daniel's head, holding it firmly.

"It would probably be better if you didn't move, Dr. Jackson," Jorgans said matter-of-factly. "My colleague knows exactly which vertebra to snap, but it can be delicate work."

"Wait!" Daniel gasped out.

"I am sorry, but I did warn you of the consequences of trying to escape. . . . Go ahead. Do it now. We're behind schedule as it is."

Daniel felt the hands tighten around his head, and he hoped fervently that he wouldn't survive what was about to come.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Tears burned in Daniel's eyes as the big man's hands tightened on his head, and he realized he had never been more afraid. He let out another involuntary sound, somewhere between a whimper and a plea, as he felt the knee press harder into his back and his neck start to twist. _Please, no._

Then there was a crashing sound and he heard his door slam open, and a voice barked, "Step away from him, now!" The blond man released his head, and the other man rose from his back, dropping his arm. Daniel cried out as pain shot through his shoulder, but he didn't otherwise move. His heart was still pounding sickeningly, and he felt bile rise to his throat. _Oh, God, he thought. Oh, thank God._

There was dead silence for a moment, then Jorgans said, placatingly, "Look, we're all on the same side here. This is sanctioned at the highest levels. My boss and your boss, they want the same thing."

Daniel pushed himself up, painfully, and looked past Jorgans, who was standing with his back to him, hands out from his sides, palms down, and saw two men in masks, both holding guns with silencers. They wore dark clothes, black slacks and turtlenecks. Daniel blinked, trying to make sense of the scene. He looked over at his two other tormentors, the men who had been only seconds away from brutally snapping his neck. They stood several feet apart from each other, and both had a blank, resigned look in their eyes, the look of men who knew they were about to die.

Daniel looked back at the men with the silencers. "Wait," he croaked, his voice strained and hoarse, although he had barely made a sound since he'd entered his own house. "We have to question them. We need to know who sent them."

No one in the room looked at him, or even seemed to hear him.

The man who had barked the first order said, addressing Jorgans, "No final decision has been made regarding this target. You acted prematurely."

"We acted on orders," Jorgans said.

The man gave a slight shrug, and both he and the other man in the mask raised their guns.

Daniel's eyes widened and he ducked down as he heard the muffled sound of the silenced revolvers going off. Jorgans was taking a step back when they fired, and the bullet caught him in the chest and sent him flying backwards to fall at Daniel's feet. Daniel heard a crash behind him and a scream, then the sound of two more bodies hitting the ground. The man who had spoken remained where he was, lowering his gun to his side, while the other man stepped forward, and Daniel tried to ready himself for the bullet he was sure was meant for him, but both men continued to ignore him. The second man walked up to Jorgans, who was twitching and gasping for breath, and shot him again, in the head. He went to the other men, who lay unmoving, and shot them each in the head as well, dead center. He then removed the silencer from his gun, stuck it and the gun inside his coat and walked back toward the door, stepping around Daniel and Jorgans's body, careful to avoid leaving a footprint in the spreading pool of blood. He pulled off his mask, opened the door and stepped out. The first man turned toward the door as well, sticking his gun and his mask in his deep coat pocket, and then he too was gone. The door closed behind him with a gentle click.

Daniel sat, unmoving, on his living room floor, Jorgans's body growing cold at his side, and stared at the closed door, unaware of time passing. His mind was a blank, and his limbs felt heavy. A horn sounded, loud and sudden, from the street outside, and he jumped and looked around, and for a moment he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there or what had happened. He lifted his hand to adjust his glasses and realized he wasn't wearing them, then noticed that his hand was covered with blood. He tried to look at his other hand, but when he went to lift his arm, the dull ache became a screaming pain and he let it drop back to his side. He looked around, finally, at the carnage, and the whole night, the entire past few horrific days, came back to him in a rush, and the enormity of it was like a kick in the gut. He felt the bile rise again, and this time he vomited, the dry painful heaves of an almost empty stomach.

When he stopped, he tried to get up, to move away from the blood and vomit, but his legs wouldn't support him and he fell awkwardly to his side. He tried again and managed to push himself up, one-handed, and stumble almost drunkenly into his kitchen. He leaned heavily on the counter, gasping, then picked a glass out of the sink and filled it to the brim under the faucet. His hand was shaking so badly much of the water slopped out over the rim as he brought it to his mouth, but he drank what was left in one long, desperate swallow. His stomach rebelled at even that small amount, but he managed to keep it down.

He splashed more water on his face and watched pink, diluted blood swirl down the drain. He felt, then, the cut on his forehead, and realized some of the blood was his. He knew he should clean the wound and try to stop the bleeding, but the effort was more than he was capable of. He turned, leaned back against the counter again and slid slowly to the tile floor, hissing a little at the pain the movement caused in his shoulder and his bruised back. Blood dripped from the cut over his eye, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his jacket.

He needed help. He'd thought he could do this alone, that he could use everything he'd learned in seven years, from Jack, Sam and Teal'c, from his battles with the Goa'uld and the replicators, to find some way out, some way to keep his place at the SGC and find his teammates, some way to go on living, but he didn't know how to fight this Earth-bound enemy, these men with the dead eyes. Here, on his own planet, the lines were too murky, good and evil blended in some gray area he'd never understood. The men who had "rescued" him today would kill him tomorrow as easily and with as little thought as they'd killed the men still lying in their death poses on his living room rug. Crippling him, kidnapping him, murdering him, none of these things were wrong, only _premature_.

A few hours ago he might have called the SGC, complacent in the knowledge that Weir would send someone to get him, to keep him safe at least for a while, and that maybe she would, after all, help him go off-world. But that was before he had turned and seen Jorgans, SGC security in the flesh, pointing a gun at his back.

Ferretti? No, he couldn't involve Ferretti in this, couldn't set men who killed so easily on his friend. Not Hammond either. He couldn't lose anyone else, couldn't be responsible for anyone else dying.

Daniel dropped his head forward in defeat. He was well and truly alone. Sam and Teal'c were out there somewhere, needing his help, he was sure of it, and he was trapped here, useless. He had failed them, the way he'd failed Jack. He looked toward the living room and thought briefly of the guns left behind, of how easy it would be to just end it, end the pain and guilt and fear. Release. He imagined almost sweet release. Maybe that was the way, the only way.

But no.

He wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction.

Someday, somehow, he would avenge Jack's death and find his teammates, or at least live to see them again when they found their own way home. This was Sam and Teal'c; they would do it. He couldn't have lost them all, forever. Someday, and he realized now that it might be years, he could find Cassie and beg forgiveness for abandoning her, and maybe, someday, she would understand that he'd had no choice. Someday.

But tonight? Daniel remembered the feelings of the hands clutching his head and the terror that had gripped him; he saw again the ease with which the men in the masks had gunned down his tormentors, ignoring him as if he were less than nothing. He thought of Jack's mutilated, dissected body, the life drained from the most alive man he'd ever met, and he imagined Sam and Teal'c floating helplessly somewhere in another galaxy, waiting for help that might never come.

Daniel reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper he'd shoved there hours before. He flattened it out and looked blearily at the numbers.

He closed his eyes, despair almost overwhelming him again, because tonight, tonight he would do something that he'd never done before, something he'd sworn he never would.

Tonight, he would run.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

And so he ran.

Daniel pulled himself off the floor and, giving the bodies in the living room a wide berth, climbed unsteadily up the stairs to his bedroom. He took his extra pair of glasses from the dresser, then went to the bed table and found the spare cell phone Jack had given him once, to use if he ever needed to make a call he didn't want traced. At the time, Daniel had laughed, but he'd kept it anyway, knowing Jack had his reasons. He thanked Jack silently now when he turned the phone on and saw that it was working, still, after all this time.

He called the Montana number, expecting to have to hide somewhere safe—where, he had no idea—until they could reach him, but as soon as he identified himself, a voice cut him off and said, simply, "Cemetery, one hour," and that was all. Daniel stared at the phone blankly for a moment, as if waiting for more, then stuck it in his jacket pocket. As cryptic as the message was, Daniel knew immediately which cemetery and which grave site. Of the many, many people he knew who had died, not many were buried on Earth and of those only a handful were buried in Colorado Springs. He knew that the voice on the phone meant not Janet's grave nor Kawalsky's, not Connor's or Spanner's.

Charlie's. He meant Charlie's.

He had to move.

Ignoring his exhaustion and pain and burying the emotions that kept flitting to the surface and threatening to break through, Daniel went into "survival mode." _Don't think, but keep moving._ It had gotten him to the sarcophagus on Apophis's ship when the rest of the team had been forced to leave him behind; it had gotten him back to the Gate after Chaka had knocked him out and dragged him cross-country; it had kept him alive when he was kidnapped in Central America. _Don't think, move._

Daniel went into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror, avoiding his own eyes. He set about quickly cleaning himself up the best he could, one-handed. He washed the blood from his face, neck and hands and put antibiotic cream around the cut above his eyebrow, awkwardly sticking a bandage on top. The cut was small but ugly and no doubt needed stitches, but it had almost stopped bleeding. He grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and swallowed three of the pills dry, then dropped the bottle in his jacket pocket. He looked at his clothes and realized for the first time that he was still wearing his BDUs. At least he'd put on his leather jacket and not the standard issue one with its SG-1 patch. At any rate, there was no way he could pull the jacket off with his injured arm, so the black T-shirt would have to do as well. He looked down at his pants and saw that they were splattered with blood, most of it, he knew, not his. The vision of the silenced gun to Jorgans's head as his body convulsed flashed through his mind, but he shoved it back again. _Don't think. Move._

He went back to his room, untied and kicked out of his boots and awkwardly pulled off the bloody pants, leaving them on the floor. He grabbed a pair of jeans that hung over the chair by the lamp and struggled into them. Bending was painful, and tying his boots again one-handed near impossible, so he slipped on some loafers. He hesitated for a moment, then went to his closet and pulled the lock box from a shelf. He took out the Beretta Jack had insisted he keep in the house and went to the small file cabinet and grabbed a magazine from another locked box in the drawer. Gun loaded, he was at a loss for a moment what to do with it. He'd always had a holster off-world. Checking again to make sure the safety was on, he stuck it in his waistband at his side, where his jacket was just long enough to cover its bulk. Not comfortable, but it would have to do. Even if it was more likely to get him killed, there was no way he was leaving the house unarmed, not after what those men had tried to do. If it came to it, he would use it on himself before he let them take him again.

Daniel looked around his room again, wondering what else he should take, then realized there was no point in taking anything. This life, the life in this house, in this place, was over.

He was almost out of the room when he turned, impulsively, and went back to the bed table. Fumbling one-handed, he took the picture of Sha're from its frame, then reached back into the drawer and came out with a messy pile of photos. He dropped them on his bed and sorted through them quickly till he found one of the team, together, at a barbecue at Jack's, and another small, square, well-creased black-and-white one of his parents from before he was born. He shoved the pictures into his pocket and then, suddenly fearful that too much time was passing, ran, almost stumbling, down the stairs and into the kitchen. He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and grabbed a couple of protein bars from a cabinet otherwise nearly empty of food. He stepped to the curtained backdoor near the small kitchen table, put his hand on the knob to open it and . . . stopped.

One of the thoughts he'd been avoiding as he prepared to leave came back, front and center.

What if they were out there, waiting? What if he opened the door and got a bullet in the heart? Or a one-way ticket to a tiny locked room?

He rested his hand on the Beretta, but it didn't help. He felt the panic beginning to rise again. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to think of another option, another way out of the house that might be safer, but there were no other options. If the house was being watched, it was being watched. His only other choice was to stay here with the bodies of his would-be kidnappers and wait for the next round of mercenaries to turn up or the police or NID. . . .

Daniel took a deep breath to try to slow his heartbeat. There were no choices. He turned the knob, then ducked down and pulled the door open slowly. Nothing happened. It was a dark night, and the back of the house cast a long shadow from the streetlights in front. He slipped out through the screen, letting it shut with the smallest click. He stayed unmoving, low to the ground, and waited. Nothing. Expecting a bullet or someone to jump him at any moment, he slid cautiously to the edge of his house. There was a small strip of grass, lit by the street lamp and a neighbor's porch light, between his house and the low fence and thick bushes that surrounded the next yard. He moved quickly in a crouch to the fence and clambered over where there was a space in the bushes. He fell forward, stopping himself with his good arm but causing a jolt of pain to echo through the other. He swallowed his shout, got down on his knees and crawled through the bushes into the next yard and lay flat, waiting again.

He could hear sounds in the house, dishes clinking, water running and the droning of a television in the background. Leno, it sounded like, and he realized how little time had passed since he'd first opened the door to his house. It had seemed like an eternity, but his neighbors were only just now ending their day. The mundane, everyday sounds were jarring. How could everything else still be so _normal _when his own life had been twisted so grotesquely in a matter of a few days?

Daniel got back into his crouch and moved across the yard into the next, then cut diagonally across that yard until he was at the edge of the street one over from his own. He stopped again to listen for the sounds of pursuit, but there were no footsteps or rustling of leaves behind him, no car engines starting up. It seemed impossible that he wasn't being followed, but if he was, he couldn't tell. He took a deep breath, stood up and stepped out into the street. He didn't look right or left but started walking briskly, as briskly as he could, toward town and Evergreen Cemetery, expecting at any moment that his next step would be his last. His shoulder throbbed, and an occasional spasm would stab at his back where the dark-haired man had pinned him with his knee. His head began to pound in rhythm with his other hurts, and he pulled the water out and took a long drink as he walked. It was not a short distance, but Daniel had gone much farther, and with far more severe injuries, before. Strange, though, to do it on Earth.

When he got to the cemetery, he paused, looking around him at the quiet street. It was only a little past 11:00, but Colorado Springs was not a late-night type of city, especially on a weeknight and away from the downtown and the bars frequented by the military personnel from the Peterson and the Mountain. He didn't see anyone, so he hopped the small fence by the entrance and walked toward the small, pretty section that held Charlie's grave. It was quiet here, away from the commercial buildings and traffic from I-25, and he couldn't hear anything but his footsteps on the asphalt path and his own quiet breathing. The path was lit only by moonlight. A stick snapped somewhere, and he froze, listening intently and ignoring the impulse to run for his life. He stayed that way for several minutes, waiting, but he heard nothing else, so he started moving again.

When he got there, Daniel waited in the shadows for a time, looking for someone to show himself, but no one did, so he walked slowly up to the grave of the small boy he'd never met. There were fresh flowers, and he figured Sara must have been there earlier in the day. God, Sara, he thought. Had someone already told her Jack was dead? Was anyone with her?

Daniel looked around again, and still seeing no one, he let himself sink to his knees by the gravestone. He was silent for a moment, but then he started to talk to Charlie, the way Jack always had, apologizing for not protecting his father better and telling him how much his father had loved him. Finally Daniel stopped, reached out and ran his fingers over Charlie's name. He didn't know what he believed anymore, but he liked to think that Jack might be with Charlie now, somewhere, somehow. He looked at the empty plot next to Charlie's and realized that it was probably Jack's, that his friend would be buried here in the next few days and that he wouldn't be here to say goodbye.

Daniel felt the tears come again, but he blinked them back. He took a shuddering breath and stood up. He checked the time on the cell phone and saw that well over an hour had passed since he'd made the call, and still no one had come.

Had he been wrong after all? Janet was buried here too, at the other side of the cemetery. Should he go there? If he missed his contact, was that it? Was he on his own? A wave of exhaustion hit Daniel and he went down to his knees again, accidently knocking against the small vase of flowers. He was reaching to straighten them when he saw the card stuck between the blossoms, as if it were a bouquet delivered by a florist. Daniel closed his eyes and cursed himself for his own stupidity. It had been here all along.

He picked up the small envelope and slipped out the note, trying to make out what it said in the dim light. An address. He squinted and held the card up to the moonlight. An address at the edge of town, nothing more. Daniel wanted to cry again, but this time in frustration. Was this some kind of joke? Was it too much to ask that the people who were supposed to help him actually help him? Were they trying to see how far he could go before he gave up?

And he was very close to giving up.

Instead, Daniel struggled to his feet, said goodbye to Charlie and started walking. He tried to stay out of sight without looking suspicious, and he tried not to stagger. After an hour, his brain shut off, and he walked, step after step, like an automaton, his only thought repeating itself on an endless reel: _Don't think, keep moving, don't think, keep moving. . . ._ He might have walked right out of town, but something in his subconscious must have still been paying attention, because he stopped himself when he got to the right road. He wasn't even sure how he had found it. He stood still, swaying slightly, and looked up the street. There were a few rundown ranch houses with scrubby brush for yards, an empty lot with garbage scattered about, and an abandoned building that might have been a warehouse. If someone had chosen this as the place to kill him, he'd chosen well, but Daniel could barely bring himself to care. He was well past exhaustion, well past his limits. He limped slowly toward the one working street lamp, stopped just out of its light and pulled out the note to check the address. One of the houses, the closest one. The shades were drawn, but light peeked out around them. Two in the morning, and someone was up.

Daniel put his hand on the Beretta, took a deep breath and walked up to the front door. This was it. Whatever was going to happen now, was going to happen. He raised his hand to knock but the door swung open first.

A tall, redheaded woman, somewhere around Daniel's age, stood in the doorway, wearing jeans, boots and a black sweater. She didn't seem to be armed. Daniel sensed another, bigger figure standing to the side.

"Dr. Jackson, I presume?" the woman said calmly, swinging the door open farther.

Daniel gave a small smile and took one step before his vision grayed and he felt his legs start to give. "I . . . uh . . . ," was all he said before he pitched forward into the woman's arms, taking her to the ground with him. "Shit," he heard a man's voice swear, and he thought to apologize, but before he could, the gray turned to black and the world went blank.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next time Daniel was aware of his surroundings, he was lying in the back of a carpeted van under a blanket, his head on a rolled-up jacket. He could feel the hum of the road beneath him, and he knew they were moving fast. A woman sat at his side, reading a book. He could see little out the dirty window in the back doors of the van, only that it was dark. The van went over a bump, and the sudden motion jolted his arm and back. He must have groaned, because the redhead put down the book and leaned over him.

"Ah, you're awake," she said. "I'm sorry you're in pain. Your shoulder is swollen, and you have quite a bit of bruising, but we don't think you have any internal injuries. We'll get a doctor to look at you as soon as we can."

Daniel squinted his eyes at her, trying to remember who she was and where he was, then remembered the ranch house and this woman answering the door. And he remembered falling on top of her.

He tried to talk, but his mouth was so dry the words wouldn't come out.

The woman, still in jeans and a sweater, grabbed a bottle of water from a case next to her and opened it, then helped him to sit up. She handed him the bottle and he drank a long draught of it, then she gave him two Tylenol, which he dutifully swallowed.

"I'm sorry for before," he said finally, his voice sounding rough to his own ears, as if someone had rubbed sandpaper on his vocal cords. "Did I hurt you?"

"Hurt me?" the woman blinked at him in confusion for a moment, then her expression cleared and she smiled. "Oh, that. Well, the landing was a little rough, but no, I'm O.K. . . . Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Daniel gave that some thought. He was in a van, speeding to someplace God only knew where, with people he'd never met. They didn't seem to want to kill or maim him. Beyond that last, he realized, he didn't really care where he was going or what would happen next.

"No," he said, "nothing."

The woman, who was still supporting his back, nodded as if there was nothing at all surprising in that, and started to lower him to floor. He was about to protest, but he realized how tired he still was and how much everything just . . . hurt, and he let her help him back down. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he closed his eyes and let the hum of the motor and the feel of the road beneath him carry him back to sleep.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Later, Daniel didn't remember much of those early days. The redhead called herself Susan; her partner, a large bear of a man who always seemed to have a couple of days' growth of beard, was Jeff. Those were not their real names. He never understood entirely who they were or the organization they belonged to, only that they lived in a shadow world where governments turned on their own people after they'd outlived their usefulness or possessed knowledge deemed too dangerous or even if their continued existence could prove an embarrassment. The were mostly "ex-spooks," as Susan put it, some ex-military. Daniel supposed they were like the mirror image of the men who had been in his house the night his life ended. They had all experienced and done things in the name of justice or honor or patriotism that had taken a piece of their souls, but this group, unlike the men who'd tortured and killed so easily, had somehow retained their humanity, and now they tried to help.

Like Jack, he supposed, and Teal'c. He wondered if Jack had ever been a part of these people that helped him now. He wondered how General Hammond even knew they existed. Those questions Susan and Jeff, and those who replaced them, never answered. There were rules, and the paramount rule was secrecy.

They were kind to him, but kept a polite distance. In some little town somewhere, a doctor told him his shoulder was sprained and that he should keep it in a sling and ice it four times a day. He handed Daniel an unlabeled bottle of painkillers and told him not to take more than three a day. Ordinarily Daniel avoided painkillers at all cost, not liking the brain-numbing side effects, but right now brain-numbing sounded good to him, so he popped one as he stood in the doctor's office. The doctor knew without asking that Daniel would not be staying in one place long enough to seek physical therapy, so he gave Daniel a list of exercises, some he could do alone, some he'd need help with, and sent him on his way. He never asked how Daniel had injured his shoulder, or how the rest of his body had come to be so bruised and battered, or where he'd gotten the cut over his eyebrow.

The next few days, as far as he could remember, Daniel slept like the dead as his body and mind tried to recover, waking up only to eat and drink or move from place to place, vehicle to vehicle. He gradually stopped taking the painkillers and became alert enough to be introduced to his companions and listen half-heartedly as they explained who they were, but he always welcomed the sleep that would grab him unexpectedly day and night.

Until the nightmares started.

Screaming, terrifying, heart-wrenching nightmares. Jack, his brains seeping out, reaching out to him; men in black masks whispering, _Goodbye, Dr. Jackson_, as they smother him beneath his pillow; lying helplessly on a metal table in a tiny room unable to move while a shadowy figure pushes a long needle through his eye and into his skull.

And the old favorites: Sha're screaming his name as a symbiote pierces her neck; Nem shouting, over and over,_ What fate Omoroca? _as water fills the room; the Honduran rebels coming toward him with the sparking cables, ready to electrocute him again. . . .

And the worst one, because it was his living nightmare, Sam and Teal'c lying bloodied and broken on a planet somewhere in another universe, whispering as they died: "Daniel?"

It was one night after that nightmare that he jumped out of bed in whatever "safe house" in whatever town they were in and woke Susan in a panic, saying he'd made a mistake and he had to go back. His friends needed him; he couldn't leave them.

Susan, who was immediately alert, sat up and grabbed his arm, saying, "Daniel, you need to calm down," and Jeff, who had been keeping watch in front of the house, appeared in the doorway and said, simply, "You can't go back," and turned and left the room.

Daniel, still gasping for breath, pulled away and said, "What does he mean, I can't go back? Am I your prisoner? You can't keep me here!"

"Daniel," Susan said. "No, of course you're not our prisoner. You can leave whenever you want. Jeff means, if you go back, you'll be imprisoned, tortured or killed."

Daniel's shoulders slumped, but he said, looking at his feet, "You can't know that."

"You really doubt it? After what happened to you?"

Daniel shook his head, and looked away. "I need to help them," he whispered.

Susan pulled herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Sit down, Daniel," she said, gesturing toward the wooden chair near the bed.

Daniel sat, and waited.

"Maybe we can help your friends. It's what we do. If they need to disappear also. . . ."

Daniel bowed his head. "No, you can't help them." He raised his head and stood up. "Look, I'm sorry I woke you. It was stupid. I know it's hopeless. I just. . . ." Daniel gave a small shake of his head, and turned to leave the room. "I'm sorry," he said again, walking out of the room. "Go back to sleep."

Days passed. Daniel's shoulder started slowly to heal and the bruises began to fade. Trying to avoid the nightmares, he lived on little to no sleep and coffee, and the question of why he bothered at all was not often far from his mind. Yet he kept going, because he always had. And because he remembered Jack when he'd first met him, how he'd been ready to destroy a world to end his own life, and how Daniel had somehow talked him down. To give up now, to end his life, it seemed to Daniel, would be a betrayal of Jack. And his missing friends.

He needed to work. For as long as he could remember he had used work to survive. As a child he threw himself into his schoolwork and, when school wasn't enough, tried to learn everything he could about . . . everything. As an adult, he'd worked to solve a puzzle, to save a world, to save his wife, to save his friends. . . .

Now he sat up long nights in motel rooms and houses, apartments and boats, drinking coffee and trying to remember everything he could about the Asgard's home galaxy, anything that he could think of to help in a search that he hoped was continuing, allies they may have overlooked, technology or a fail safe that Sam or Teal'c may have mentioned. He felt lost without his books and journals, but he did his best, reconstructing what he knew, listing questions for what he didn't. Among the questions that nagged him the most were what the distress call, the one Thor had spoken of, had said, how long it had taken the Asgard ship that received the transmission to respond and what planets were within range of Sam and Teal'c's ship at its last-known location.

Jeff had wandered up to him one night, one of the last before Susan and he had handed him off to the next set of competent strangers, and silently watched him work. Finally, he'd said, "You know, you have to let the old life go. That's the past."

Daniel had inclined his head and given a little shrug, as if to say, "Maybe so," and turned back to his notes. Jeff had sighed and said, "Well, at least make sure no one can read what you're writing, unless you plan to swallow all that paper when you're done."

Daniel had looked up that time and caught Jeff's eye. His notes, as usual were in random languages, Earth and other. "You're right," he said after a moment. "Thank you." And from then on he wrote in a combination of an obscure off-world language that no one, not even the experts at the SGC, was likely to recognize, and a shorthand he'd invented as a child to hide his words from the prying eyes of foster parents and social workers.

When he had thought it out as much as he could, he asked "Angel," one of the men who replaced Susan and Jeff and who sometimes sat in the early morning hours and played chess with him, for access to a computer and printer, but Angel brought him an old portable typewriter instead. Then he typed the following: _1) Tka spoke of px—2 and travelers. Contact?; 2) ship from Melna?; 3) Gt to bylia gt; 4) if Tr returns: what last message; how long to respond; land close enough?_ He didn't sign it. The note wasn't much, but it was something. He then wrote down General Hammond's home address on a scrap of paper and handed it and the note to Angel, and asked him please to find a way to mail it, knowing he and his colleagues would make the letter untraceable.

"This is not a good idea, friend," Angel said. "If you disappear, it is best to disappear."

"Please," Daniel said. "If I don't do at least this, I can't live with myself."

"Will it help with the nightmares?" Angel asked, quietly.

Daniel winced a little and looked away. None of the others had mentioned the nightmares, allowing Daniel the self-deception that they hadn't heard his screams. He forced himself to look Angel in the eye. "Yes," he said, "it might."

Angel looked back at the man who stared at him now, troubled blue eyes pleading, and sighed. "All right," he said. "This is my deal. You start eating real food and try to get some sleep, and I will have someone mail this note. I still think it is unwise, but I will let you make that choice."

Daniel let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Angel had refused. "I'll eat," he said. "The sleeping thing hasn't been working out too well. . . . "

Angel nodded and took the letter. "That's a start. You go make a sandwich, then, and I'll set up the chess board. You can try sleeping later."

More time passed. Angel and his partner were gone and two others took their place. Daniel, without another way to help his friends, floundered for a while until, finally, to escape his tortured thoughts and his still-nightmare-plagued nights and with considerable pressure from the people who were hiding him, he started taking an interest in where he was going and what he would do. A tall, thin man with a receding hairline and a small scar under his eye whose name Daniel never learned, not even a fake name, came and sat with him for two days straight, in some small, cold town in Alberta, and they hammered out an identity. The man told him it was unusual to have so many choices but that with Daniel's linguistic abilities and breadth of knowledge of other cultures and lands, the possibilities were almost limitless. He said Daniel should pick a language and identity he was comfortable with, and a part of the world where he was unlikely to come into contact with anyone from his past life. He and his "associates" would take care of the rest: passport, other documents, computer records. . . .

Daniel had come up with a scenario that he thought he could survive. The facilitator, as Daniel came to think of him, balked at only two points, the first a big one. Daniel wanted to join up with a dig somewhere as an amateur archeologist, but the facilitator was adamant that this was too dangerous. Daniel had been equally adamant, pointing out that there were thousands of small digs all over the world, and that many of them would take on students or others who were interested with little documentation and no background check. After leaving Daniel for several hours to "look into" what Daniel had said, the man had come back and agreed that perhaps Daniel's plan was not a bad one, especially since the people looking for him would not expect him to do something so _obvious_, as he put it.

The second dispute was a minor one: his name. The facilitator had suggested Michel Perrault, and Daniel had acquiesced to the surname but told the man that his given name would be Jacques. The facilitator's objected that it was too close in sound to Daniel's real surname, but Daniel stuck to it stubbornly. He knew he was being perverse, but it was his small way of hanging onto his old life. He knew that Jacques wasn't "Jack," but he knew, also, that he'd always hear the name when it was being called, would never forget to look up and answer.

So Daniel became Jacques Perrault, from Montreal, an amateur archaeologist who had never finished college but whose parents had recently died and left him enough money to spend it as he pleased. Daniel searched the databases and looked in the magazines until he found what he was needed: a small, remote dig in Brazil, where the less-than-ideal living conditions and the time constraints of having to work within the dry season kept the directors in constant need of "extra hands." It was as far away from his roots in Egypt as he could get, yet in the past decade great strides had been made in the understanding of pre-Columbian rain forest societies. Maybe, Daniel thought, the work would provide enough distraction to keep him from losing his mind.

So it was settled.

Daniel did have one last question, though, and he was embarrassed that it had taken him so long to consider it. Where was the money coming from to pay for all this? He had saved a good deal of money over the years with the SGC, but he had no idea how he could access his accounts.

Harrison, the last of his "handlers" before he was sent off on his own, told him not to worry, that it was taken care of. When Daniel persisted, Harrison had finally told him that a fund had been set up in his name some time ago, but that he couldn't tell him how or by whom.

Daniel had stared at the man, open-mouthed. He didn't need to be told who had set up the fund, and now he didn't think he needed to be told how General Hammond had known this organization existed or how they knew to pick Charlie's grave.

Jack.

Jack had known it might come to this someday; he'd known. For a moment Daniel was angry that Jack had never told him, but he realized that if he had, Daniel never would have believed him, in the same way he had laughed at the untraceable cell phone and protested at keeping a gun in the house.

And Daniel's anger was replaced by an ache that he would carry with him into the Amazon and beyond.

God, he missed him. He missed his friend.

Two days after the conversation with Harrison, Daniel, his arm finally out of the sling, said goodbye to his old life and boarded a flight for Brazil.


	10. Chapter 9

Author's note: I know next to nothing about the Brazilian rainforest or about archaeological digs, so please feel free to correct any of my mistakes, and where I can, I'll fix them! It's 1am and I have no idea if this chapter even works, but here it is. If I don't update now, it will be another week.

Chapter 9

**Brazilian rainforest, Upper Xingu Dig 17**

Daniel stooped through the opening to his tent and stepped out into the already-steamy Amazonian day. The sun was still low on the horizon and cast only a hazy morning light on the place he'd called home for a month. At some point in the near future, if the dig turned out to be as important as the lead archaeologists hoped, there would be buildings, but for now everything was very . . . basic. There were several tents to either side of his, and the "kitchen," was across the small dirt "yard." It was a simple affair with posts holding up a corrugated tin roof and rolled up flaps attached that could be dropped to keep out the rain, black flies or mosquitoes, depending on the time of day and the season. There were three long picnic tables set up, and a large kerosene cooking stove. The noisy portable generator stood silent, as it was turned off each night unless they needed refrigeration. Fresh meat was a luxury they enjoyed perhaps once a week; the rest of the time they lived off canned or dried food, fresh fruit from their surroundings and sometimes fresh vegetables from the local people. Having survived for years on MREs and bad commissary food, Daniel was not bothered. At least the coffee was good.

Daniel wandered to the dining area and poured himself a cup of coffee from the old fashioned percolator working away on the hot stove and went to sit down across the table from Charles, who was already wolfing down what looked like several Twinkies. The rest of the camp still slept, only the night security guard wandering about, mug of coffee in hand.

"Jacques!" Charles greeted him, with his mouth full. "Get yourself some food, man! We've got digging to do and discoveries to make!"

Daniel just shook his head slightly and took a sip of the scalding coffee. Charles had married young and raised two boys and a girl, dutifully working in his father's bank to support the family while longing for the career as an archaeologist he had trained for at university. Now Charles had taken a six-month leave, with the blessing of his wife and almost-grown kids, and was on the adventure of a lifetime, pursuing his dream. Daniel appreciated Charles's enthusiasm, and sometimes he even found it infectious, but there were many days that he also found it a little overwhelming, especially so early in the morning. He felt the now normal pang of nostalgia and grief as he thought, briefly, of how Jack, Sam and Teal'c would laugh at the idea of Daniel, of all people, finding another archaeologist too enthusiastic.

Ignoring Charles's continuing banter, Daniel looked over the man's shoulder and, past the small structure they used as a "lab," to the dig itself, maybe 100 square yards, with its newly dug narrow trenches and grids marked off carefully with string.

So far, it looked as if they had found the site of a small community or campsite, and not one of the small cities with their wide roads, plazas and parkland, the discovery of which had begun to change the archaeological world's view of pre-Columbian civilization in the Amazon. Although Daniel was an Egyptologist, he had always thought that the mainstream assumption that the people of the region were "primitive" had been based on a Western bias dating back to the days of the first Spanish conquerors, who viewed the Amazon as a vast, hostile, unexplorable region, unfit for human settlement. Daniel knew better than most how stubborn his colleagues could be when their assumptions were challenged. Thus he'd followed with interest news of the archaeological finds, starting in the '90s, that had turned the beliefs about the region on their head.

Daniel's eyes wandered past the dig to the beginnings of the forest just beyond it, with its scrubby brush giving way to isolated trees and then the knotty tall trees of deep woods, with its snakes, monkeys, spiders, sloths, tapirs, panthers, an an incredible variety of birds, lizards, insects. . . . Daniel let himself listen to the sounds, the constant clacking, whistling, buzzing, grunting multitude of sounds. In the distance a troop of howler monkeys started up its eery moaning.

In all his years and all his travels and all the wonders he had seen, Daniel had never experienced anything so astonishing as this shrinking patch of rainforest he was living in now.

Behind him, back in the other direction over a low rise, was the Xingu River. Most of the foreign volunteers, and the Brazilian lead archaeologists, Elena and Manoel, had arrived from Altamira by boat, a fairly grueling four-hour trip. Daniel barely remembered the trip, though, still caught as he was in state of mourning and disbelief, but he did remember the ache in his back and the crocodiles on the riverbank. And he remembered the feeling of despair as he floated farther and farther away from the life he'd known.

Daniel was snapped out of his less than pleasant reverie by the sound of Charles clearing his throat. He looked across the table at his companion, who was uncharacteristically silent and staring at him with concern. Daniel had allowed Charles and the rest of the camp to think that he was still mourning the untimely death of his parents in a car accident, since he knew he wasn't a good enough actor to always hide his grief. Now Daniel forced out a small laugh and a smile.

"Sorry, just thinking," he said. "What were you saying?"

"Clearly, nothing important," Charles said dryly. "But it looks as if Mac and the others are here, so perhaps we should get started?"

Daniel looked back toward the dig and saw that a few of the Kaipo men hired on to help with the dig were appearing from the forest. "Mac" was Charles's name for Miacuro, one of the few young men of the community who spoke Portuguese and who most often acted as translator for the group.

"Looks like it," Daniel said. "Let's go." He downed the rest of his coffee, and the two men walked out into the brightening sunlight and headed for the dig.

***********

Reggie Saunders, bored with providing security where none was needed, watched Jacques Perrault as he squatted near one of the younger volunteers—Hannah, one of the German girls—and gestured toward something in the ditch. From the narrow trench, she looked up at him raptly, but Jacques seemed oblivious to her adoration, caught up totally in whatever he was explaining to her.

Over the past month since the Canadian had arrived, Saunders had gradually become convinced that Monsieur Perrault was not whom he pretended to be. Oh, there seemed no doubt that he knew his archaeology. Even the lead archaeologists, the gloomy Manoel Almeira and his sharp-witted sister Elena Borques, had started to listen to the man when he softly voiced his opinion on where best to expand the dig or the likely reason for an oddly located artifact.

Saunders, when he was bored, liked to listen.

No, Jacques was an archaeologist, but it was what else he was that had begun to fascinate Saunders. Saunders had been in the U.S. Army for 20 years and he knew what he knew.

Jacques was a soldier.

Saunders had first seen it early on, when he'd watched Perrault come out of his tent one morning. The man didn't just push his way out and stumble to the kitchen the way most of them did. He stood for a moment and took in his surroundings, his eyes moving from the kitchen to the work areas, to the edge of the rainforest and back to the tents. Saunders had at first thought it was his imagination, until he'd seen Jacques do it the next morning and the morning after. The man was scouting his surroundings like a pro, and he did it whether he was in mid-conversation with whoever stood outside his tent or on his own.

Saunders was fairly certain Jacques was not even aware that he was doing it. It was habit, the habit of a man who had spent a lot of time waking up in hostile territory.

So Saunders, again out of boredom, started paying more attention, just to see what else he could pick up. He watched as, some two weeks after he'd arrived, Jacques had started to work out with some of the kid volunteers. The Englishman Charles and Elena had rolled their eyes at him, telling him to leave all that exertion to the "children." The Kaipo men had laughed at the absurdity of the foreigners running on the dirt track that led past their village and out to the rudimentary logging road about a mile away. Manoel had, typically, just scowled, and gone back to typing into his laptop.

But Saunders had watched. Perrault was out-of-shape, but not in the way a sedentary man might be. He moved with ease and grace, and he had the muscles still of someone used to an active life. No, Jacques had the look of a man who had been ill—or wounded. His color had not been that great when he'd arrived, he favored his left arm, and he'd obviously recently lost a lot of weight, quickly. The first days he'd tired quickly, joking with the German girls who'd joined in and the tall young Dane that he was "too old" to keep up with them. But he'd pressed on, and by now he was, definitely, keeping up with the kids.

It might have been middle-aged vanity that made Jacques work so hard, but Saunders didn't think so. Staying fit was another survival habit that Jacques had not been able to shake.

And then there was the night when Saunders had filled in for Evones, who'd gone into Altamira, and he'd heard Perrault crying out in his sleep, not in French but in English and in a language he'd never heard, although it sounded vaguely Arabic. He'd later asked Evones about it, and the night guy had shrugged and said that, yes, the man seemed to have a lot of nightmares, but he didn't pay much attention. It was more fun, he said, winking, to see who was sneaking into whose tent.

Saunders put together all this information and added to it the haunted look that he often saw in the archaeologist's eyes, and he could reach only one conclusion: Jacques Perrault was military, or ex-military, and in his time, he'd seen some serious shit.

None of this would be so strange, or was really any of his business, except that one day Saunders had finally approached the man and asked him about it point blank. He was curious, yes, but he also though that maybe they could connect, share some stories, help each other get through some of the more tedious days, when the rain would come and send everyone undercover for hours. So he'd sat down at an otherwise empty table across from Jacques. Jacques, nursing his ever-present cup of coffee, had greeted him warmly, calling him Reggie, which no one else around there did. He doubted any of the rest of them, except for Manoel and Elena, who had hired him, even knew his first name.

So he'd asked the where he'd served, what branch of the military . . . and Jacques had denied it. Flat-out denied it. He'd stared at Saunders with those disturbing blue eyes, and then with a smile and a laugh had said, "Reginald, whoever told you I was a military man is way off base. If you knew how much I hated guns. . . ." Jacques let his statement drift off and shook his head. Then he'd asked Saunders about his own military career and before he knew it, he was telling Perrault about his days in the Gulf.

The man was smooth, Saunders had to give him that, but he was definitely a soldier. A few days after that conversation, Evones had woken up to find a python in his tent. He'd rolled out of bed, grabbed his gun and shot it. At the sound of the gun shot, most of the camp had reacted, jumping at the sound, ducking down, giving a small scream. Saunders himself had ducked for cover and drawn his weapon before Evones had come out of his tent swinging the dead snake and laughing.

Jacques, though, who had been walking not far from Evones's tent, had hit the ground, rolled and come up in a crouch grabbing for an imaginary sidearm.

So Saunders watched the mystery man now, wondering if he was someone to be worried about, if he was some kind of threat to the security of the dig and the people on it, or if he was just another damaged man running from his past who deserved to be left in peace. Saunders knew something about running away. Why else would he have taken this job in this mosquito-ridden, godforsaken place? And he knew he wasn't being paid to do more than keep vandals from the camp and to make sure that the disputes between the miners and the loggers working mere miles away didn't spill over into the dig.

Still, Jacques Perrault was a mystery, and Saunders loved a good mystery. He looked toward him again and saw that, at the moment, Jacques was just standing up, gently pulling his arm from the German girl's grasp. Saunders watched Elena come up behind him and lay her hand lightly on his back, pointing to the area where Charles was working with some of the local guys, one of whom was holding a GPS while the others marked off the grids. Jacques turned and accidentally brushed against Elena's chest, and Elena smiled a little, looking him in the eye. Jacques blinked and gave an embarrassed shrug, offering what Saunders imagined was an apology. It was hard to see from where he stood, but Saunders could swear that the man was blushing.

Saunders raised his eyebrows at that. Oblivious as Jacques may have been to the pretty 19-year-old who had been practically jumping him moments before, he was decidedly not oblivious to the charms of his boss. Not that Saunders could blame him. He himself tended to prefer the young ones, much to his ex-wife's dismay, but Elena was a force of nature. Saunders smiled to himself as he turned to scout the outskirts of the camp. Watching Jacques Perrault had just become even _more_ interesting.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Daniel could feel Saunders staring again, and he got a sinking feeling in his gut. He wondered if he'd have to run again, this time on his own. Daniel had lied to him, and the man knew it. Something had clued Saunders in to his background even before Daniel had made a fool of himself the day Evones had shot the snake. On that morning, after he'd come out of his drop and roll and gotten to his feet, grinning sheepishly the way he thought Jacques might, his heart still beating a mile a minute, Daniel had turned and, of course, seen Saunders looking at him as he holstered his own, real, weapon. The security guard had cocked his head and raised his eyebrow, the question in his eyes communicated as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud: Not military, are you? Uh-huh.

In his time at the SGC Daniel had still liked to pretend, sometimes, that he wasn't "military," and he never _felt_ as if he was when he was shuffling through the subterranean halls with the real military men and women, but he knew, had known for some time, that that was just semantics. He'd been on the front lines of a brutal war for seven years, could handle a half-dozen different kinds of weapons proficiently, had killed more Jaffa than he could comfortably think about. . . . He couldn't pretend that all that hadn't changed who he was.

Daniel shook his head. He'd barely been in Brazil for four weeks, and already he'd blown it. He didn't know why he should be surprised or disgusted with himself, although he was. He'd never been an actor. Teal'c had once told him, before going all-in in some late-night poker game Jack had insisted they play, "I can see through you like a book, Daniel Jackson," causing them all to laugh at his intentional garbling of the Tau'ri cliché. Daniel smiled a little at the memory now, allowing himself the fleeting hope that his friend was out there somewhere, still honing his sense of humor, before he pushed the thought back into that compartment of his mind that now seethed with memories trying to escape, if only he'd let them.

He felt another headache coming on and glanced up at the hot sun. He pulled the front of his tee-shirt up and wiped the sweat and grime from his face, then pulled it over his head and tossed it on the ground above the trench he was working. The Kaipo men around him were already shirtless, a couple with red and yellow bodypaint adorning their backs. Daniel preferred working with the local men. To the Kaipo, they were all foreigners, all intruders, really, and Daniel knew that nothing he did would arouse any special curiosity. And he enjoyed picking up on the nuances of their language as they spoke among themselves. It was a distraction from the painstaking work of excavating layer upon thin layer of dirt, searching for pottery sherds, bone fragments, anything that would give a clue to the past; now Daniel carefully brushed the dirt away from what looked as if it might be the edge of a rim sherd protruding from the wall of the trench.

He waived Riaolha over, and the stocky young man wearing nothing but shorts and flip-flops, marked the location in his log. He asked a question in the Kaipo tongue, and Daniel almost answered before he remembered that _linguist_ was not part of his new identity, and showing any fluency in a language spoken at most by a few thousand people would be a bad idea. Riaolha called Miacuro over and asked his question again. He wondered if the fragment Daniel had uncovered had the same markings as the original pot found by his brother, the one that had brought the archaeologists to this site in the first place. Daniel confirmed that, yes, it looked as if it did, and Riaolha walked off looking pleased with himself. Riaolha, Daniel thought, had the makings of a fine archaeologist. He started again to gently work around the edges of the pottery sherd, his mind turning again, unwillingly, to Saunders.

So Saunders knew that Daniel was not exactly who he claimed to be. Did it really matter? Who was he going to tell? Daniel didn't think he would try to get him fired from the dig. Saunders had as much as admitted that day they had talked over breakfast that he was hiding out in the Amazon himself, escaping bad debts, a bad marriage and, Daniel suspected, some of his own demons. And what else was there for Saunders to do with the information that Daniel may have been in the military? Who would care? No, Daniel thought, "Jacques" was just a puzzle for the bored security man to solve. Nothing more.

Daniel, hoping he wasn't making a decision based more on weariness than intelligence, decided he could stay put for now. There were only a few more months before the rainy season would begin; he'd move on after that. Maybe teach Portuguese or French or English to some of the local people. He'd noticed that several of the children who hung around the camp were fast picking up a polyglot of Portuguese and English, with a smattering of German, Italian and Spanish as well.

Although he and the others had to constantly shoo them away from the dig site, Daniel liked seeing the kids running about. It reminded him of himself, in Egypt, annoying his parents into letting him help at the digs. Daniel felt a twinge in his back and stood up to stretch his sore muscles, taking a moment to look around the camp. He'd found a rhythm in this place, a way to survive, and he realized, with almost a start, that he liked it here. He liked spending hours doing little but sifting through dirt, looking for clues to the past. He liked Miacuro and the other Kaipo men, and he liked the enthusiastic students even if they did seem impossibly young to him now. He liked to wander into the rainforest to see a Toucan flap away or a troop of squirrel monkeys swing across the canopy or a tapir lumber by on its way to the river. He even liked the grumpy Manoel, recognizing a part of himself in the other archaeologist's relentless pursuit of knowledge.

And then there was Elena. Even as he thought her name, Daniel became conscious of another set of eyes on his bare back, and he knew it was her, could feel the electricity where he stood. Elena. Brilliant, no-nonsense Elena with her sharp wit and eyes that saw everything. Deep brown eyes. Daniel shook his head, telling himself not to go there. He took a long drink from his water bottle and then ducked back down into the trench to continue working, studiously avoided turning his head. Yet he could still see her in his mind's eye as she walked across the camp, that intent look on her face, her short dark hair falling out of her scarf, and her baggy khakis and brightly colored tee-shirt that couldn't hide. . . .

Yes, well, he liked Elena too.

They all knew each others' stories, or at least the stories they told, from the talks around the dining tables, when the generator had been hushed and the kerosene lamps cast a flickering light against the shadows of the night. Elena, in what she joked was her last impetuous move, had married even younger than Charles, before she was 20. She'd been 22 and the mother of an infant and a toddler when the _idiota_, as she called him, had run off with a 16-year-old. Not having the time or personality to mourn, she'd swallowed her pride and asked her parents for help with the babies, taken a job as a secretary to "another _idiota_" and put herself through university at night. She would dress and feed the babies in the morning and play with them before work, rush home to be with them at lunch, rush home again to give them dinner and kiss them goodnight before she left for her classes, then study after class till she dropped asleep at the kitchen table, then start all over again. She never, she said, considered giving up, eventually following Manoel, one year younger, to graduate school. The kids, a boy and a girl, were at university themselves now. Elena said they probably hated her, but at least she'd made sure they'd grown up strong and independent. Manoel, later when his sister had gone to bed, said that of course his niece and nephew were crazy about their mother, idolized her in fact, but that Elena seemed to think it was some kind of bad luck to admit it, the only superstition she ever allowed herself.

And here she was today, overseeing the dig, somehow managing to laugh at the students and still send them away feeling as if they were on the verge of a brilliant career, alternately joking and browbeating her brother out of his moods, making sure, when her brother forgot, that they had supplies, that the Kaipo men were paid, that everything _worked_.

And burning a hole in Daniel's back with her eyes.

*******

Elena sighed a little when Jacques ducked back down into the trench. Such a pretty sight he made. Manoel, who was working next to her in the makeshift lab, cataloguing and boxing artifacts, gave her a disapproving look. "Leave him alone, Elena," he said. "He's got enough going on without you complicating his life."

Elena gave him an annoyed look and turned back to their work. Manoel was probably right about that. Jacques was a sad man, and he carried his sorrow with him wherever he went, whether he was helping to dig a new trench or listening in on their evening conversations or even when he was smiling at the antics of the children around camp. Not that he dwelled on his grief; in fact he tried to cover it up—joking with the students as they went off for their evening run, throwing himself into the work, taking on kitchen duty almost cheerfully—but there were times, when he thought no one was looking, that Elena would see such depth of despair in his eyes. . . .

Manoel was right. She should leave the man alone.

But there was just something about him. Yes, Jacques was handsome, heartstoppingly so, but that wasn't it, not really. She'd known a lot of handsome men in her life, and a good number of those were really not worth knowing. And it wasn't that she was attracted to wounded men, the ones with the stories that could break your heart. Quite the opposite, really; the _idiota_ had captured her heart with a sad story and a bunch of roses. No. Simple, cheerful, what-you-see-is-what-you-get, that was Elena's thing.

But Jacques. . . . There was an underlying kindness, a gentleness to the man. She'd seen it when he'd worked so patiently with that fumble-fingered student from Beliz, when he'd listen with a smile to Charles going on about whatever Charles was going on about, when he'd bent and swept up one of the Kaipo girls one-armed to keep her from running headlong into a ditch, then set her down as carefully as he might a priceless artifact.

And though he tried to hide his brilliance, as if it would ruin his reputation as a carefree, ne'er-do-well who had lived a life of ease on his parents' fortune, it was obvious that the man was frighteningly smart. Since he had arrived looking so thin and worn on that rainy day a month before, several times he had, after listening in for a few minutes on a discussion that had lasted for days or even weeks, offered a solution or an alternative so obvious that they were later amazed they hadn't considered it themselves.

Elena liked smart; she always had.

She looked up again from her work and saw that Jacques had climbed out of the trench and was walking slowly toward the lab, probably heading for the kitchen, tee-shirt in hand. He ran his fingers through his hair and squinted up at the sun, then paused for a moment in his walk and pulled the shirt on. He walked past the lab and nodded to Manoel, who gave a distracted wave of his hand. Then he looked at Elena and she felt that jolt of current running between them. "Elena," he said in greeting, his voice sounding a little hoarse, then wandered on toward the kitchen.

She stared after him, open-mouthed, until Manoel finally said, "Jesus, Elena, give it a rest." She snapped her mouth shut and gave her little brother the evil eye that used to send him running when they were kids. The grown-up Manoel, though, just shook his head and rolled his eyes, then uncharacteristically for him, started to laugh.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**SGC, Control Room, two weeks later**

George Hammond fingered the well-worn note in his pocket. He should have rewritten it in his own hand and destroyed it as soon as he opened up the mysterious envelope postmarked Paris and saw what it contained, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Once he realized what he held and who had sent it, he had felt such a sense of relief that his legs almost gave out, and he had to reach back to the arm of the leather couch in his Washington apartment to keep from falling. He'd sat down and stared at the paper with its old-fashioned type for minutes, not even fully processing, at first, the message it contained: _1) Tka spoke of px—2 and travelers. Contact?; 2) ship from Melna?; 3) Gt to bylia gt; 4) if Tr returns: what last message; how long to respond; radio signals escape bh?_

Hammond, despite everything he'd seen in his years, or perhaps because of it, was a religious man, and he thanked God right then and there and continued to give thanks afterward: He'd made it. Daniel Jackson was alive.

Up to that moment, Hammond hadn't allowed himself to hope. When he'd seen the report and photographs of the carnage at Dr. Jackson's house, he had feared the worst. What else could he think? Daniel was either dead or the prisoner of men who would not hesitate to do anything to reach their goals. For weeks afterward, George had woken up in the middle of the night with nightmare visions of his friend being tortured, screaming for help that never came, and he fully expected to hear any day that Daniel's body had been found.

The government searched for Daniel, but it wasn't with rescue in mind. The jackals had taken full advantage of the situation and had started a massive manhunt for a man they now labeled not only a traitor, but a murderer and told their people he was to be considered armed and dangerous. Hammond had lodged a protest, spoken to the President himself, and others who knew and worked with Daniel had done the same, but to no avail. Major Ferretti and Colonel Reynolds had been outraged by the charges and both had requested that their teams be assigned to lead a true, Earth-side, search-and-rescue mission. Hammond hadn't been able to grant the request, had been forbidden to do so, but he did ask Elizabeth Weir to assign Colonel Reynolds to ferret out any other moles that might be working still in the bowels of the mountain. Unfortunately the colonel's search turned up nothing and left too many questions unanswered. They had all been shocked by the revelation that one of the men killed at Dr. Jackson's house had been attached to SGC security, and Hammond's sense of responsibility for Daniel's fate had increased tenfold. What had Jorgans been doing there that night with two mercenaries wanted by Interpol and their own CIA? Who had he been working for?

A month passed, then six weeks, and they knew nothing more. There was no sign of Daniel. Hammond was forced to give his attention to his myriad responsibilities as head of Home World Security but, still, he remembered his promises to Daniel. Shortly after Daniel had disappeared, George himself had driven up to tell Cassie of the fate of SG-1. She had been devastated by Jack's death and the disappearance of Sam, Teal'c and Daniel, her only family left since Dr. Fraiser had herself died so tragically not even a year before. He'd taken her back to his elder daughter's house, and she and his granddaughters had slowly become a new surrogate family for the young girl. Hammond still visited her as often as possible.

And of course he'd made certain that the search for Major Carter and Teal'c continued. It was the least he could do for Daniel and for Colonel O'Neill. Gate travel had resumed, and Dr. Weir had been reassigned to lead the Atlantis expedition. Her replacement, Hank Landry, was a good man—no nonsense, did not suffer fools lightly—and probably just the leader the SGC needed after all the turmoil. Hammond knew he was overstepping by interfering in the handling of the search, but Landry had, far from protesting, made it a standing order that, as part of every mission, the teams were to seek out any information or any technology that might help them discover the fate of the last two members of SG-1. Landry knew—they both knew—that their efforts were likely in vain: everything pointed to Major Carter and Teal'c having disappeared into the black hole. But they continued to do what they could.

With no results.

Until now . . . maybe. Hammond thought about what was in Daniel's note. He didn't have to pull it out to look at it—he'd memorized it weeks before. If he were to be honest with himself, he only kept it as a talisman of sorts. If Daniel Jackson, by some miracle, had been alive to type it, then most certainly it would bring luck to anyone who held it.

Hammond had immediately pursued the first two of Daniel's suggestions, as he could easily reconcile the needs of the SGC and Earth with the effort made. They contacted the people of PX3-241, said by the Tok'ra to be great travelers, and the Ziroschoen had provided them with valuable information about the Gate network and even some addresses that they didn't have in their database, but the nomadic people knew nothing of travel beyond the galaxy. The SGC also stepped up the search for the ship spoken of by the people of Melnahotic, rumored to possess technology that rivaled that of the Ancients. The search had been going on sporadically for some years, and it came as a great surprise when a survey team had actually found the ship, buried beneath a temple. Unfortunately it had proved to be nothing more than an ancient Goa'uld vessel, lacking even hyperdrive. The historians and Daniel's old team of archaeologists were fascinated. For everyone else it had been a grave disappointment.

The other items, it had taken Hammond a while to sort out. Why would Daniel suggest they go to Byliason, a bleak planet at the edge of the galaxy that was little more than a barren rock? And why the strange phrasing: gate to the gate? And his questions for the Asgard, should they ever hear from that ancient race again, seemed like little more than stabs in the dark. If Hammond hadn't had complete faith in Dr. Jackson's brilliant mind and the intuitive leaps it took, he might have discounted the rest of the note as mere wishful thinking.

So, he'd made discrete inquiries of the scientists at the SGC concerning the gate at Byliason with the pretense of filling some holes left in an old report, and was surprised to receive an enthusiastic response by phone from a Dr. Kalai saying that he had only just, based on a theory of Major Carter's about the unique electromagnetic field of the planet and its location at the edge of the galaxy, figured out how to boost a transmission signal farther than they'd ever attempted and that maybe, eventually, they would be able to use the same theory to power the gate from there to other galaxies. Hammond understood just enough of what the man was saying to ask if they could use this discovery to increase their likelihood of contacting the Asgard, and Dr. Kalai, after a moment's hesitation, had said that yes, that might work if they. . . .

Hammond let the rest of the excited scientist's words slip past him as wondered how in the world Dr. Jackson had known about this research when Hammond hadn't, even though Hammond was supposed to know of everything that went on at the SGC.

"General Hammond?" Dr. Kalai asked, interrupting his thoughts, and Hammond realized that the man had finished his explanation. He cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, Kalai continued:

"Contacting the Asgard? I know we have been trying to contact them concerning the Antarctica data, but would that also be to ask them about Major Carter and Teal'c?"

"That had crossed my mind, yes, Doctor," Hammond responded.

"Oh, oh, I would be so pleased if my research could. . . ." The man stopped and seemed temporarily overcome.

"Doctor?" Hammond had asked kindly. He remembered the man he was talking to now: young, almost impossibly shy, blond hair so pale it was almost white.

"I would be so honored to do anything that may help them, sir," Dr. Kalai finally continued. "It would mean so much to all of us, and I know that Daniel, I mean Dr. Jackson. . . . Except for Major Carter, Dr. Jackson was one of the few people who ever asked me about this research, sir, and he would listen as if he were truly interested. Sometimes we're so isolated here, and it was nice to. . . . I never got to tell him how much that meant. . . . If my research could help. . . ." Dr. Kalai stuttered to a stop.

"I understand, son," Hammond had responded. "I agree. Dr. Jackson would be very pleased and not at all surprised, I'm sure, by your good work."

Dr. Kalai had sputtered his thanks, promising to have a report to General Landry on a new attempt to contact the Asgard by morning.

And now, almost two month's later, the Asgard had finally received the subspace message to contact the SGC, and Earth had in turn received a brief message to stand by in 12 Earth hours' time for contact from Thor. Hammond, with the blessings of the President and the Joint Chiefs, who were anxious to retrieve the data Thor had taken and to hold the Asgard accountable for the violation of their treaty, had flown out to Colorado Springs on the first military transport available.

He didn't, of course, give a rat's a** about the supposed treaty violation. George headed to the mountain because he was thrilled to have discovered that Thor and some of his great race still survived, and because he was anxious to fulfill Dr. Jackson's wish and transmit his questions. He again reminded himself that the likelihood that Major Carter and Teal'c were still alive was infinitesimal, and yet. . . . If Thor had survived, if Daniel had survived, couldn't another miracle occur? As Daniel had reminded him months before when this whole nightmare had begun, this was SG-1 they were talking about. And there was something else: Hammond had eventually realized why Daniel had wanted to ask the questions in his note. It was the only explanation that made sense: Daniel suspected that the story Thor had told him of Teal'c and Major Carter's demise that day was not the whole truth; he suspected that the Asgard were _lying_.

Hammond was torn from his thoughts by Walter Harriman's voice. "Receiving subspace communication, sirs," he said, glancing at General Hammond and General Landry before looking back at his console. "It's Supreme Commander Thor. The signal is weak but steady."

"Put him through, Sergeant," Landry responded.

Walter worked the keyboard, and the sound of static jumped out before the words, "This is Supreme Commander Thor of the Asgard Fleet. I apologize for not appearing in person, but our war with the replicators continues. I fear I have only a few moments before I must turn my attention back to that battle."

Landry nodded at Hammond to go ahead.

"Thor," he said, "this is General Hammond. Thank you for responding to our signal. I will be brief. First, I must ask you about the technology and data you took from Antarctica. As you know, that action was in direct violation of the treaty between our peoples." This last was said with clear apology in his tone, and he hoped that that would come across even in the static-filled signal.

"General Hammond, it is an honor to speak with you again," Thor said, and then, "I regret that I cannot yet travel to your galaxy to return the technology, but I am sending a data burst now with everything we have thus far learned from the data you have stored in Antarctica, some of which your scientists may well find useful. We have also discovered mention of what appears to be a weapon against the replicators, and our best scientists are studying this now. As we had hoped, the information received from Earth may well be our salvation, and for this the Asgard people are deeply grateful."

"Receiving data burst now," Walter said.

"Thor," Hammond said, Joint Chiefs be damned, "I and the people of Earth are more than pleased to know that any information we provided may help you defeat the replicators, and we thank you for the data you have just sent." Remembering his promise to be brief, Hammond added, "There is one more thing you may be able to do for us."

"I will do what I can, General."

"I know you have more pressing needs, but if you can find a way, I have three questions I would like you to pass on to the captain of the ship who responded to Major Carter and Teal'c's distress call—if he has survived." Hammond fingered the note again, seeing the shorthand type before his eyes.

Landry, Walter and the others in the control room looked at Hammond in surprise. He had of course told no one of the note, nor had he given a hint that he wished to ask about Teal'c and Carter.

"He has indeed survived," Thor answered, "and has played an integral part in both our battle and our development of the new weapon. What are your questions, General Hammond?"

"They are quite brief. We would like to know how long it took your ship to respond once it first heard the distress calls, what exactly that last message was and how that transmission may have escaped the pull of the black hole."

There was a brief, static-filled silence before Thor answered. "I see," he said, finally, and Hammond knew that Thor realized the import of the questions. "I will ask Captain Tyr myself. I regret that it may be some time before I can inform you of the answers, but I will do so as soon as I am able. I must depart now. The battle still rages."

"Of course, Thor," Hammond replied. "Our thoughts will be with you."

"Thank you, General," Thor responded. And then the transmission ended.

Well, thought Hammond. That is that. He'd done everything he could. Now all they could do, once again, was wait.

**Brazilian rainforest, Upper Xingu Dig 17**

She had made him laugh. Not that half-laugh and sad smile he'd give sometimes, but a full-out laugh and a smile that actually reached his eyes. More than six weeks after Jacques Perrault had first set foot in the camp, he'd actually laughed. Elena had felt a kind of a thrill to see Jacques light up for just a moment, and to see him look at her as if she were the most brilliant, _funny_ person on the planet, and all over a joke about Egyptian and Mayan gods trying to read one another's handwriting. The moment had passed quickly, though, as the distant sound of thunder rolled across the hills and through the forest, and they had all rushed to roll out the tarps over the dig site and to pull their laptops and equipment undercover.

Now, under the rapidly darkening sky, as the first drops of rain started to fall, Elena looked from the kitchen, where most of the camp had gathered to wait out the storm, to Jacques's tent, where he had gone after giving Charles a little wave, and she took a chance. She headed for Jacques's tent, unzipped the flap and ducked inside.

Jacques sat on his cot in the dim light of the tent. He wore a white singlet, khakis and leather sandals. He was holding what looked like an old-fashioned journal open on his lap, a ball-point pen in his other hand. He looked up startled for a moment, then gave her a small smile. "Elena?" he said.

"Jacques," she said, then nothing more, letting the silence stretch.

There was another rumble of thunder, this time much closer, and the sky opened up. The raindrops began to drum on the canvas of the tent and set up cacophonous symphony on the tin roofs of the kitchen and the lab. There was a flash of light visible even inside the tent and a loud crack of thunder that made them both jump.

Elena laughed a little and raised her voice over the racket. "I was going to ask you to join us in the kitchen before the rain started," she said, "but. . . ." She gave a little wave of her hand.

Jacques continued to look at her with his unnerving blue eyes, and she almost wanted to step back his look was so intense, but instead she found herself taking a step forward. She could see his desire, could feel it.

But instead of coming toward her, then, he sighed and repeated her name, but his voice was filled with apology and regret: "Elena."

*****

Daniel looked at the woman who stood before him in his tent, staring back at him expectantly. She was so beautiful, so . . . Elena. What harm could it do to reach out and brush the hair from her eyes, to take her in his arms, to kiss that small frown from her lips. She took a step forward and he could almost feel the heat from where he sat, and he knew she felt it too, that they both had from almost the first time they'd set eyes on each other.

But he knew there were a thousand reasons he couldn't. The man she was attracted to was nothing but a figment of his imagination; his life was a lie. He'd have to leave soon, could not stay in one place too long, not with those dead-eyed men searching for him, ready to kill him and the people around him. And he had no right, he thought, to find that kind of happiness, not with Jack dead, Sam and Teal'c gone, Cassie alone.

"Elena," he said, longing and apology combined in his voice.

"Jacques," she said, and there was the smallest hint of a plea in her voice. "I know you feel it too. I'm not asking for a lifetime, Jacques. Just for this moment. Would that really be so terrible?"

Just for this moment, Daniel thought. Just for a moment, to forget the pain and the guilt and the loneliness. He looked at Elena. She was so beautiful, and it had been so long. Knowing in his heart that this wasn't just for a moment, that there was something between them that was more than a passion stirred by the storm outside, he let himself believe the lie: It was just this moment, just this little piece of time.

"No," he said, "it would not be so terrible." He put the journal he still held in his hand down on the cot and dropped the pen to the floor, then he rose, taking the two steps to where she stood, brown eyes open wide now, mouth open in a small O.

He pulled the scarf from her head, letting it fall, and ran his hand through her dark hair until it came to rest gently on the side of her face. Elena reached up and placed her hands on his chest, letting her fingers run lightly down to his stomach and he let out a long shuddering sigh. God, it had been so long.

Daniel drew Elena to him, then, and bent down to kiss her, and she pulled herself up on her toes to meet his lips. "Jacques," she whispered as they came together, and Daniel pretended not to hear the false name. It's just for this moment, he thought. There was no past, no future, just the rain coming down outside in torrents and the rolling, roaring thunder sending tremors through their souls.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_Dawn again. I watch Elena sleeping so peacefully, and I think I'm content with that. The first few nights we were together, I slept peacefully too. If the nightmares came, I didn't remember them, and Elena mentioned nothing. _

_The dreams are back, of course, although they've changed. Now they jump from place to place, happy ones mixed with the nightmares, sometimes following one upon the other in dizzying succession. I'll be on Abydos, listening to Sha're's laughter, then she's ripped away as if a hatch has blown on an airlock; and suddenly I'm sitting on my father's lap trying to read his book while he talks over my head to my mother, and I look up only to find myself back on Thor's ship as Jack's mangled body appears before my eyes. I wake up dizzy sometimes, as if I'd actually been spun from dream to dream. And, with Elena so close, I've had to teach myself all over again that off-world trick of waking myself up before I start screaming. I've seen a lot of dawns this way._

_I suppose the confusion of my dreams matches the confusion of my waking hours. I have something wonderful, and I know I don't deserve it. I'll feel a burst of happiness, God, actual happiness—I can't even remember the last time I felt that way—and then I'll be swallowed up in a pool of guilt so deep I can't find my way out. I should stop this thing with Elena, I know it, and I think she knows it too. But we don't stop; I'm not sure we can._

_Even as I write the words, I know they're not true. Of course I can end it, remind her of her promise, the one that neither of us really believed, that "it was just for this moment." I can tell her, truthfully, that she's better off without me in her life, that I'm too much of a "basket case," that I've discovered in myself a man who would run to save himself, leaving his friends behind. . . ._

_What I can't tell her is that I'm living a lie and that she'd be safer without me. That, more than anything else, should make me act._

_Yet on early mornings like these, as the noises of the night are replaced by the waking sounds of the rainforest, and I watch Elena sleep behind the netting, a small smile on her face, the curves of her body making a graceful landscape under the thin sheet, her foot with its funny bent toes sticking out, unexpected, like Elena herself—on mornings like these, I lose the courage of my convictions. Better than anyone, I know there is no such thing as forever, but I look at Elena, and I want forever._

Daniel closed his journal and shoved it in his pack, thankful he was writing in code, a little embarrassed by his own words. Jack would never have let him hear the end of it. Well, maybe he would, Daniel admitted. Jack, he thought, as cynical as he was about most things, understood love. And he would have liked Elena. Daniel looked at Elena, who was starting to stir, and smiled a little, but his smile was suddenly replaced by a grimace as he realized exactly what Jack would have said, joking but not: "Well, she's not the destroyer of worlds; that's a bonus."

Daniel sighed and put his head in his hands. Forever? He and love didn't get along that way; he knew he was lucky to have had these weeks, would be lucky for any time they had left. It wasn't enough, but it was something.

"Jacques?"

Daniel looked up again and saw that Elena was sitting up, still wrapped in the sheet. She blinked sleepily and yawned.

"You had another nightmare?" she asked.

Daniel shrugged.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No," he said. "I'd rather just forget it."

Elena stood up, slipped on her sandals and walked over to him, the sheet dragging behind her. "Maybe this will help," she said, and bent and kissed him, a long seductive kiss.

"Ummm," Daniel finally said when they broke for air, and went to pull her close again. She put her hand out, stopping him, and said, "Did that help you to forget?"

He smiled at her. "Forget what?" he said.

Elena laughed. "Then my work here is done." She picked the sheet up from the ground and turned to get her clothes.

"Elena!" Daniel almost growled.

"Now, now, all play and no work makes Jacques a dull boy. C'mon, Section 17 is beckoning. If you let the children find the roadway first, you'll never live it down."

Daniel stood and walked up behind her and kissed the back of her neck. "I'll take that chance," he said, and kissed her neck again, and then her bare shoulder.

Elena sighed and arched her back against him like a cat before turning into his embrace. "Damn you, Jacques," she said.

"Too late," Daniel whispered.

******

Saunders watched Elena and Jacques duck out of Jacques's tent. Their hands brushed together slightly as they walked, and they both looked at ease and content, a far cry from the usual almost-manic Elena and the hyperaware Jacques of a month ago. He felt a stab of jealousy—_Lucky bastard_, he thought—then shrugged it off. Whoever Jacques really was, he was a nice enough guy, and he probably deserved a little happiness. Saunders watched Jacques nudge Elena and nod his head in the direction of the dig. Elena turned her head to look, and rolled her eyes. Saunders followed the look and saw Manoel, clearly furious, stomping toward them.

Saunders grinned, hoping for a show. It was barely eight in the morning, but even Saunders knew by now that on a dig in the Brazilian rainforest, with the short days and with time fast running out on the "dry" season, every hour made a difference. And with the first evidence they'd had that this site was possibly more significant than they had hoped, Manoel was in full battle mode.

Before Manoel could reach the two targets of his ire, though, Jacques stepped forward to meet him. Saunders couldn't hear what was said over the roar of the generator, but Jacques touched Manoel's arm, said a few words, and Manoel seemed to almost deflate. He growled out a few more words that looked like, "Just don't let it happen again." He glared past Jacques at his sister for a moment, and headed for the lab.

The security man shook his head. How the hell does Perrault do that? he wondered. The man could probably talk himself out of the jaws of a tiger. Or an angry mob into a game of hopscotch. He laughed at the last vision, never imagining that before a day had passed, he would have the chance to see Jacques try.

********

Daniel woke suddenly out of a rare deep sleep and for a moment forgot where he was. Something had disturbed him, a sound that didn't belong. He reached for his P-90, and looking around in the almost pitch black for Sam, Teal'c or Jack, grabbed nothing but air. What the hell? The sounds were getting louder now, dim voices, bodies heading through the bush, startled animals screaming.

Daniel's hand brushed the mosquito netting and he squinted in the dark, making out the faint outlines of his tent, finally realizing where he was. He pressed the button to light up the face of his watch and stared at the blurry numbers: 04:23.

Daniel grabbed his glasses and jumped out of bed. He pulled on a pair of pants and slipped barefoot into his work boots, then unzipped the flap of his tent to look out. The yelling was coming from the direction of the river, but he couldn't see anything over the rise. He saw a movement off to his left and recognized Evones, gun in hand, kicking the side of Saunders's tent and quietly calling his colleague's name. Saunders appeared quickly, obviously already awakened by the noise. Daniel slipped out of his tent and approached the men, announcing his presence in Portuguese with a quiet, "It's me, Jacques. What's happening?"

"No idea. Just stay back," Evones said gruffly.

The rest of the camp was waking up now, flashlights and lamps coming on, and voices calling out to each other in various languages. Charles came out yawning, in pajama pants and sandals. "What's all the noise?" he asked. "It's the middle of the bloody night." Daniel just shrugged and pointed in the direction of the shouting.

Manoel came out of his tent fully dressed and walked toward them, then Elena appeared, looking alert and ready for trouble. She searched Daniel out with her eyes and relaxed slightly when she saw him. For Manoel's peace of mind they'd decided to spend the night in their own tents. Now Daniel watched as she walked beside her brother, ready to take charge of whatever was happening.

The students had gathered back near the kitchen, and huddled together speaking in whispers.

The voices were louder now, and Daniel could recognize the Kaipo words. "She's dead, she's dead!" people were shouting. "Get the others." "They killed her!" Suddenly a woman's voice rose in a wail, and others joined in.

"What the hell happened?" Manoel asked, and Daniel wondered if he should tell the man what he knew. Except for a few words, no one else at the camp spoke Kaipo.

"They keep saying the word for death, I think," Charles said from behind them, and Daniel looked back at him with surprise. Charles shrugged. "I listened to a tape before I came. That one stuck in my head."

As the first heads appeared above the rise, Manoel, Elena, Saunders and Evones stepped forward to meet them. Daniel resisted the urge to step forward with them, and resisted the even greater urge to pull Elena back. The first figure came forward, a large man grasping something small, a piece of clothing perhaps, in his hands.

Behind the first man were perhaps 20 other figures, men and women. Several of the men carried the long, machete-like knives they used to cut through the forest, a few carried rifles and Daniel thought he saw at least one handgun. Saunders and Evones shifted uneasily, holding their guns at their sides.

Some of the women continued to wail, and one woman fell to her knees. The man in front started to speak, rapidly, so rapidly that Daniel had trouble keeping up. "This is my daughter's," the man cried. "You have"—there were several words here Daniel didn't understand—"and killed her in the river."

Elena started to say, in Portuguese, "I'm sorry, we don't understand," and several of the men shouted at her angrily. Elena looked helplessly up at Manoel, who asked, "Is Miacuro with you?"

Miacuro stepped forward accompanied by an older man who carried himself with authority.

"Miacuro," Manoel said, over the crying of the women. "Please. We don't understand what has happened."

Miacuro said something to the old man, who spoke rapidly back, but Daniel couldn't hear his words. The old man spoke more loudly to the people behind them, and they quieted.

Miacuro began to talk: "Raya left the village tonight," he said. Daniel's heart sank. Raya was one of the girls who played at the camp. He remembered her giggling after he stopped her from falling in a ditch one day. She couldn't be more than nine years old.

"We searched for her all night," Miacuro continued. "Her father found her clothes by the river. They were ripped and bloody." He turned to the old man and asked a question, then turned back, and they could hear the anger in his voice. "She was taken by a man."

Charles said, "You can't mean. . . ." and Elena shushed him.

Manoel said, "We are terribly sorry the girl is missing, but it has nothing to do with us. Why are you here?" Daniel winced at the unintended harshness of his tone. Rava's father yelled a curse and others in the group stepped forward even before Miacuro translated.

"Manoel!" Elena whispered, then said, "We are terribly sorry if anything has happened to Raya. She is such a sweet little girl. But she may still be all right. Please tell us what we can do to help."

Miacuro listened to the old man and then said, "Her bloody clothes tell us she is not all right. If she was thrown in the river, we will never find her. You will give us the one responsible."

"That's absurd," Manoel practically barked out. "None of our people would harm a child."

"Her friend described him. She said he took Rava for a walk in the forest and promised her sweets if she came back. He is the one called Jens."

There was a collective gasp from the students back by the kitchen, and Jens, the young Dane, could be heard quite clearly. "No! No!"

The dark night was giving way to the gray predawn, and Daniel could make out the angry faces now, and he could see the little pair of shorts and the ripped and bloody tee-shirt. He thought again of the happy little girl and felt sick to his stomach.

The Kaipo men, most dressed only in loin cloths or shorts, and the women, some wearing Western style shifts, some just skirts and some nothing at all, had started to shout in reaction to Jens's denial. The old man yelled, "Justice demands that we take him!" and Miacuro translated, "We must deal with him by our law."

Manoel said, "I'm sorry, you can't just take him. I don't believe he would do such a thing, but even if he did, we can't just let you take him. We'll call the authorities and they will decide what to do."

Miarcuro shook his head and translated for the old man, and another collective shout went up from the people. The father screamed, "They murder out people without consequence, the way it has always been. He took my child from her mother. He deserves death but they will protect their own." Another man shouted, "Then we will take him!"

Miacuro didn't translate, and other than Daniel the rest of the camp had no idea what was being said. But the intent was clear. The Kaipo men raised their knives and aimed their rifles. Saunders swore, stepped in front of Manoel and Elena and pulled his 9-mm up. Evones swung his gun toward the old man.

And Daniel started to move. Only a few steps behind Elena and the others, he ran forward, shouting, in both Portuguese and Kaipo, "No, don't shoot, stop! This isn't necessary!" But he was too late. As he stepped in front of Saunders, knocking his gun aside, the first shot sounded, and then another.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Daniel pushed Saunders's gun down so the shot hit the dirt and ricocheted off harmlessly, but he heard Evones's gun discharge as well and saw Miacuro fall and then felt another bullet from one of the Kaipo whiz by his ear. He heard Saunders curse at him and Elena call his name from the ground where she had dived with Manoel, but he took another step forward and raised his arms out to either side and started speaking rapidly in Kaipo. The Kaipo men, startled by the tall foreigner speaking their language, hesitated in their assault. "Please!" he said. "You don't want to kill each other. Rava may still be out there, hurt. We can help you look for her. I promise we won't let this go unpunished."

One of the men carrying a long knife stepped forward brandishing his weapon. "More lies!" he shouted, but Daniel stood his ground.

"Perrault," Saunders grated out in English, trying to get a shot. "What the hell are you doing? Get the hell out of the way."

"For God's sake, lower your gun, Reggie," Daniel spat back. "Let me stop this."

Another Kaipo man stepped forward to stand by the first, brandishing his knife, and Daniel, hands still raised out to his sides, stepped forward as well, so that there were little more than a few yards separating him from the men with the knives. He continued to look at the men calmly as his heart beat painfully in his ribcage. "Please let this work," he thought to himself.

"No, no, I do not lie," he continued, "and neither do the people behind me. We will all put our weapons aside." Daniel half turned toward Saunders and Evones. "Please," he said in English and then in Portuguese. Saunders swore again but lowered his gun till it hung at his side. Evones looked from Daniel to the Kaipo men, then slowly did the same, mumbling, "You better not get us killed, Perrault."

Daniel turned back to the Kaipo. "Would you fight when we can still save the child?" He gestured toward the men with the knives. "You can kill me here," he said more quietly, "and we can kill you. Men will die and women too, and more families will live in sorrow. Let us try to find Rava, please. She may be hurt somewhere waiting for us to help while we fight each other here."

Daniel watched two men help Miacuro to his feet, and Miacuro, looking straight in Daniel's eyes, whispered something to the elder. The old man, who had not moved when the guns went off, looked toward the injured young man at his side and back at Daniel. He gestured to a large man behind him, and the man stepped forward and listened to the elder's words. He too looked at Daniel, then past Daniel into the camp and back at the old man. He nodded.

"And what of the man who attacked the child?" the old man said.

Daniel hesitated and then said, "While we search for her, one of your men and one of ours will guard him. If our hopes are answered and we find Rava, she can tell us what happened to her. If tragedy strikes again and we can not find her, we will work together to decide what should be done."

"Do you speak for your people?" the old man asked.

Daniel said, without hesitation, "I do, I do in this matter."

"And those two behind you, do they not employ you?"

Daniel nodded. "Manoel, Elena," he said, quietly, not looking behind him, "I told them that one of their men and one of ours would watch Jens while the rest of us searched for Rava, and that if we didn't find her we would decide together what should be done next. They need to hear it from you."

Manoel and Elena, who had risen slowly as Daniel spoke, looked at each other. Elena nodded at her brother. _Trust him_, her look said. _Trust Jacques_.

Manoel spoke then, his voice a little unsteady. "Miacuro. I am sorry you were hurt. Please tell Elder Riapo that Jacques's words are true, that this is the course we would like to take."

Miacuro translated, and the elder turned and spoke a few words to the people around him. The men in front of Daniel nodded at him then stepped back with the rest. Daniel lowered his arms, slowly, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He took a deep breath and let it out. Jesus, he thought, that was stupid. But he couldn't have just stood and let people die, could he? And isn't that what they used to pay him the big bucks for?

Daniel felt Elena's hand on his shoulder, and he took another look toward the Kaipo before turning to her. "Jacques," she said. "Are you all right?"

He gave a little laugh and said, "No, not really. You?"

"Fine," she said, "Thanks to you."

Daniel shook his head at that but didn't say anything.

She smiled at him and put her hand to his cheek for a moment, before heading off toward the Kaipo, all business now, saying, "Miacuro, please, let me look at your arm. And tell us how we can help with the search."

Daniel started to follow her, to help with any translating, when he felt another hand on his shoulder, this one far less gentle. He turned to face Saunders's glare. "Perrault," the angry man whispered, "if you ever grab my gun again, I'll shoot you myself." Daniel returned the stare calmly, having faced down scarier, angrier Air Force officers and Marines in similar situations a dozen times.

"Fair enough, Reggie," he said.

"Saunders!" Manoel's voice broke in then. "I need you with Jens!" Saunders turned his head toward his boss and said, "Why not Evones?"

"Evones says the miners have search dogs. He's going to see about that now. Get moving, please, before this whole thing falls apart again."

Saunders nodded. "I'm coming," he said, then turned back to Daniel.

"Who the hell are you really, Perrault?" he asked gruffly, letting Daniel know, straight out, that he was no longer even pretending to buy the harmless playboy act.

"Nobody," Daniel answered as truthfully as he could. "I'm nobody." Then, not waiting for Saunders's response, Daniel turned and walked toward the Elena and the Kaipo, ready to help.

*********

Daniel sat in the kitchen looking blearily in front of him, as people bustled about the camp, coming in from one search party, joining another. Barely more than an hour and a half had passed since he had stood in front of the guns and knives, but he was already so tired, it was all he could do to keep his head from falling to the table. Even in his exhaustion he recognized the symptoms of an adrenaline crash. Earlier he had started shaking so badly that he had had to excuse himself and duck into his tent for a few minutes before he'd been able to continue helping to organize the search—which mostly meant letting the Kaipo tell them where to go—calm frayed nerves, translate conflicting orders. . . .

Charles, carrying two mugs of coffee appeared in Daniel's line of vision, and sat down, setting one of the mugs in front of Daniel. Daniel blinked at him dully, as if trying to remember who he was.

"Still with us, Jacques?" Charles said.

Daniel shook his head to clear it. "Charles," he said finally, "any word yet?"

Charles sighed. "No, we didn't find any sign, and no one else has either. But Evones's man has only been out a few minutes with his search dogs. If there's anything to be found, I'd think. . . ." He let his words drift off.

Daniel nodded tiredly and put his hands around the warm mug. He wasn't sure they were steady enough yet for him to lift it to his lips, so he settled for the moment for just the proximity, as if the caffeine could reach him by osmosis. He glanced back up to see Charles looking at him curiously.

"So," Charles said, after a little hesitation. "Your language tapes must have been much more comprehensive than mine."

Daniel tried to focus, to think of the consequences of any answer he could give, but he couldn't even begin to think of a credible lie—while mourning his parents' death and floundering about, he happened to take a crash course in Kaipo?—so he decided to go for what was, essentially, the truth.

"I've always been good with languages," he said.

Charles stared at him, doubt evident on his face, and Daniel tried to ignore the sudden vision he had of his whole cover unraveling like the string of a kite caught in a hurricane. If good-natured, straightforward Charles was suspicious, what would Saunders say, or Manoel . . . or Elena? He wondered how much she would despise him when she realized how much of their life together was a lie.

"Good at languages and good at talking down angry mobs. Handy talents to have, I would think," Charles said.

Daniel just looked at him tiredly.

"Well," Charles said when Daniel didn't say anything, "however you developed your unique talents, they saved our lives today. My wife and children will want to thank you personally someday.

Daniel found the energy to smile, and raised his cup to Charles, relieved to find only the smallest tremor in his hand. "I'd love to meet them someday, thank you, Charles," he said sincerely, although he knew it would never happen, that one way or another he would disappear from the lives of the people here never to be heard from again. But he appreciated Charles's underlying message that, despite his doubts about Daniel's background, he still trusted him.

There was a sudden yelling from the direction of the forest, and both Charles and Daniel looked in that direction. Elena and the Argentine student Ana appeared at the treeline, followed by Evones and the man from the mining camp with the dogs.

Both Daniel and Charles rose, coffee forgotten, and started to walk quickly in that direction. They walked past Jens's tent, where Saunders and Riaolha were watching the seemingly distraught student. "What's happening?" they heard Jens ask. "Did they find her?"

"We're going to find out, Jens. We'll let you know," Charles responded.

As they came closer, Elena shouted out, "She's alive!"

"Oh," Charles said, "That's wonderful news. Brilliant."

Daniel nodded, relieved beyond measure that the little girl was alive but fearful that her injuries, physical and psychic, would still threaten her young life. He knew better than to believe in simple, happy endings.

As they reached the rescue party, Charles and Daniel turned to walk with them back to camp. "How is she?" Daniel asked Elena as he walked by her side.

"I didn't really have time to check her out," Elena said, quietly. "Her father wanted her home and wanted the shaman to look at her; it's for the best. He's pretty wise about their medicine and ours. But as far as I could see, she has what looked like knife wounds on her chest and legs where I think someone . . . some _bastard_," she whispered, "cut off her clothes. The wounds are not too deep, but it looked as if one might be infected. She has bruises on her arms and legs—My God, Jacques, you can see the fingerprints!—but I don't know if, if he. . . ." Elena stopped speaking again to compose herself, and Daniel reached out gently to hold her arm. "I don't know how she got away," Elena went on. "She'd climbed a tree and passed out, poor little thing."

"Has she said anything?" Charles, who'd been walking at their side, asked.

"No," Elena said. "When we left the Kaipo, she hadn't said a word."

They looked toward Jens's tent and saw both Riaolha and Saunders watching them. Elena sighed. "I'll talk to Jens," she said. "This nightmare still isn't over for him, I'm afraid."

"You're assuming that he didn't. . . ." Charles started to say and then stopped himself.

"Of course he didn't touch that girl!" Elena said. "I'd stake my life on it!" She looked toward Daniel for his agreement, but he just shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know, Elena," he said tiredly. "Everything I know about him, and I've spent as much time with him as anyone, everything I know says you're right, but people aren't always who they seem."

Elena stopped then and turned to look at him. Daniel and Charles stopped as well. A look he couldn't identify flitted across her face. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Jacques?" she said quietly.

Daniel flinched a little and let the hand that still held Elena's arm fall to his side. "Elena. . . ." he said, but nothing more. What was there to say, after all?

The look fell from Elena's face to be replaced by a neutral one, the one that said she was in charge and had things to do. "Charles," she said, turning to him, "I see Manoel over there already trying to decide if it would be in poor taste to ask everyone to get back to work. Tell him I said he should let everyone decide for himself and that I'll be there in a few minutes. Jacques, " she said, then again "Jacques. . . ." and she looked at him more closely; her voice softened a little in spite of herself. "You look as if you can barely stand. Go get some sleep." And then she spun around and walked toward Jens's tent.

"I second that," Charles said. "Get some rest, Jacques."

Daniel didn't say anything as he watched Elena walk away. She ducked into Jens's tent and Saunders, as he went to follow her, looked back and caught Daniel's eye. Daniel wasn't sure what he saw there, but it was no longer the humorous, sardonic look he was used to. Daniel looked back steadily until Saunders disappeared into Jens's tent, then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Jacques?" Charles said.

Daniel looked at the easygoing man at his side. "Yes, right," he finally said. "I think I'll do that. I'll just go lie down for a little while."

Daniel walked slowly to his tent, carefully putting one foot in front of the other to avoid stumbling. He pushed through the flap and then did stumble, catching himself on the edge of his cot. He looked down at his work boots but couldn't be bothered even trying to kick them off. He crawled onto the cot and let himself fall face forward, and he was asleep.

*********

Sometime later, Daniel stirred when he heard the flap of his tent lift again.

"I'm sorry," a voice whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you."

Elena. Daniel turned his head and saw her standing there, but he couldn't see her expression in the dim light.

"Has something happened?" Daniel asked, sitting up.

"That's not why I'm here, but yes, Rava told them what happened. It wasn't Jens. It was a man she'd never seen before. They think he must be one of the men from the mining or logging camp. Evones's friend is reluctant to use his dogs to try to find one of his own people, but I think he's coming around."

"And Rava?" Daniel asked.

"He didn't rape her," Elena said. "According to Miacuro, the man let go of her for a moment after he cut off her clothes, and she ran."

"Brave little girl," he said.

"Yes," Elena said.

"But that's not why you came?"

"No," Elena said. "I wanted to sit with you for a while."

"While I slept?"

"Yes, I don't often get to watch you sleep."

Daniel smiled at her. "No, I guess not." Had she forgiven him? Then his smile faltered a little. Or was this her way of saying goodbye?

"Jacques," she said then. "About what I said before."

Daniel waited.

"It doesn't matter," Elena said. When Daniel gave her a questioning look, she went on. "I don't care who you were before or who you think you are pretending to be now. Miacuro said something to me today, while I was trying to sort all this out in my head, wondering what lies you'd told us—no, don't say anything. I asked him what he said to the elder after he'd been wounded, and he said he told the man to trust you. I asked him why, and he said that the rest of us at the camp treat the Kaipo as equals, that some of us work very hard to treat them as equals, but that to you, they just are, we _all_ just are—the Kaipo, the students, the men who deliver supplies—equal."

Daniel shifted uncomfortably. "Well," he said, trying to make a joke of the praise and remembering something Jack had said once, "that's very _Kumbaya_ of him."

"No, Jacques, no," Elena stopped him. "What you just said, that's the man you pretend to be. I know who you are. You care, Jacques, you care about the people around you, you care about the world around you, and I know without a doubt that you care about me. Walking in front of bullets for us, paying enough attention when you were working with the Kaipo men to learn the language, that's who you are. How you learned to do what you did today—and it's obvious to all of us that you've done it before—how you could pick up a language with next to nothing in common with any you say you speak. . . . It doesn't matter to me.

"I just want you to stay. I know you think you should leave. I can see it in your eyes. And I know you've always told me you wouldn't be here forever, but. . . ."

Elena stopped then. "God," she said, putting her hand over her eyes. "I've just made an idiot of myself, haven't I?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "Am I allowed to speak yet?" he said.

Elena couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, Jacques, yes, you can speak now, but only if you can say something that will make me feel like less of an idiot, and only if you promise to stay."

Daniel smiled. "Whatever else you do or say, Elena, you could never be an idiot. If you're an idiot, the rest of us are slugs." Then his face grew more serious. "Elena, if I could, I would stay forever. But. . . ."

"How long?" Elena asked.

"As long as I can," Daniel answered. "I promise I'll stay for as long as I can."

*******

**Ida Galaxy, aboard ****_The __Daniel Jackson_**

Thor looked at the schematics for the prototype weapon the Asgard scientists had developed, and he knew for certain what he had suspected for some time, ever since General Hammond had transmitted the questions for Captain Tyr, the questions Thor assumed had been formulated by Dr. Jackson. Tyr had said he would get the answers to those questions as soon as "they had a moment free from battle," but of course the battle with the replicators had raged on. The data before Thor now truly represented the last hope of the Asgard race, but even as he entered the information in the ships computers to create the weapon, the survival of his people foremost in his mind, he couldn't help but see the obvious.

While the science and the knowledge behind the weapon were undoubtedly Ancient, the _design _was, to Thor's practiced eye, undoubtedly human.

Tyr and the others had lied. Major Carter and Teal'c had not perished in the black hole. They were alive.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**Ida Galaxy, aboard the Asgard vessel _Leidang One_**

Teal'c watched Major Carter as she talked to the Asgard ship's captain they had both come to despise. She clutched the side of the table she stood behind, weariness and tension at war in her expression. She'd lost weight, and there were deep shadows around her eyes. Their kidnapping—for it was nothing less than a kidnapping—the endless battle with the replicators, the race to help the Asgard find the weapon they needed, the constant pleading with Captain Tyr and the others, the worry for O'Neill and Earth—all these things had taken a toll on them both.

Teal'c, too, had to admit to exhaustion. After the first five weeks his supply of Tretonin had finally run out, and the synthesized version the Asgard had come up with had never felt quite right to him. He tired more quickly, and his reflexes seemed slower. Or perhaps he chafed against months of virtual captivity while he and Major Carter fought repeated replicator incursions into this ship and the others that journeyed with it, while Major Carter spent endless hours with the Asgard scientists studying the translated Ancient text from the Antarctica post and attempting to deconstruct a device found there that they had all suspected was related to the weapon they sought. The irony was, Teal'c thought now, he and Major Carter would have done all these things gladly if they had been asked.

They had not been.

"We've finished the weapon," Sam was saying. "What more do you want from us? Teal'c and I have fought against the replicator incursions in these three ships, day after day for months. You don't need us any more. We had a deal. You bring us to Thor or you take us home now and help Colonel O'Neill.

"The weapon has yet to be tested, but should it prove effective, I am afraid we still will not be able to let you go home."

Teal'c stood up straighter than he had been and swore. "What is the meaning of this? What prevents you from honoring your commitment?"

Tyr looked at Teal'c calmly. They both knew that should Teal'c threaten the much smaller being, a touch of the console before him could trap Teal'c in a force field or otherwise render him helpless. "The High Council would frown on our treatment of you, I am afraid, although we all know it was necessary to our survival as a race. They have time and again put abstract ideals ahead of reality. I believe this time would be no different. We are not willing to accept the punishment that would most certainly occur."

Sam made a strangled sound of frustration and slammed her hand down on the table.

"Have you so little honor, Captain Tyr, that you would sacrifice us to your cause before yourselves?" Teal'c said, almost with disbelief despite having long since become aware of Tyr's lack of character.

"We believe that we can better serve the Asgard people if we are free to act as we have been. The prototype weapon is evidence of that."

Sam, voicing Teal'c's earlier thoughts, sighed in exasperation. "You didn't have to kidnap us to get our help, Tyr. Do you honestly believe that either Teal'c or I would have helped you if we didn't believe that it was the right thing to do? Do you think we would have done the same for anyone? For the Goa'uld?"

Tyr gave one slow nod of his head. "Perhaps other methods may have succeeded as well, but I am afraid that is irrelevant now. You will not be mistreated. . . ."

A beeping sound came from the console, and Tyr turned his attention to the message coming through. "Commander Thor has arrived. We will now discover if our weapon will be effective. Major Carter and Teal'c, I am transferring you to your quarters until. . . ."

A blue light flashed and Thor appeared on the bridge. "That will not be necessary, Captain Tyr. Major Carter and Teal'c, on behalf of the Asgard High Council, I apologize for the actions of Captain Tyr and offer our deepest gratitude for what we now realize were your efforts on our behalf.

Teal'c, who quickly recovered from his surprise, nodded gravely. Sam stared for a moment before she managed, "Thor!" Then she almost sagged with relief.

"Captain Tyr," Thor said, "we have tested the weapon against a replicator incursion on one of our vessels, and it has proved successful. We have created larger versions of the weapon capable of broadcasting a disruption wave over large segments of the galaxy. I have transferred one such version to your ship. When and if the replicators are eradicated, you will answer to the Council for your methods.

Tyr walked from behind the console. "My methods, Commander Thor?" he sputtered. "It is those methods that have resulted in our salvation!"

Thor responded icily, "Captain Tyr, you may save your arguments for the High Council. Right now you must transmit the coordinates I have sent you to your sister ships. This assault on the replicators must be carried out with the utmost precision. Major Carter, Teal'c, I assume you would like to leave this vessel and return with me while we carry out what we hope will be the final battle for the Ida Galaxy."

"Yes, please, Thor. I can't believe you've finally come. Once you've used the weapon, we need to return to Earth as soon as possible. Colonel O'Neill needs your help."

A look passed across Thor's face that Teal'c could not interpret, although he had over time learned to see the nuances of expression in the alien visage. Then Thor turned and gave what could only be described as a glare in Tyr's direction. Tyr busied himself with the console.

"Major Carter, we will indeed return you to Earth as soon as we are able, and I will immediately transmit the information that you and Teal'c are safe. I would return you now, but I believe that my presence is still necessary here—if you will consent to waiting until the battle is successfully won.

Teal'c and Sam both nodded. "Of course, Thor," Sam said. "We will see the battle through, but. . . ."

Thor, uncharacteristically, cut her off. "That is well. The weapon is very powerful, but the replicators have infiltrated the far reaches of our galaxy, and we must ascertain that not one survives. In the meantime, I'm afraid we have much to discuss. We must depart now."

As the blue light enveloped them, Sam and Teal'c looked at each with consternation at the ominous tone of the Asgard supreme commander's words. It could only mean one thing. All was not well on Earth.

**SGC, Control Room, two days later**

Walter tapped the headphones and eyed the console again, not ready to believe the message that was being transmitted from the team now stationed at the most remote SGC outpost: Byliason.

"Repeat your message, please," he said.

The other two men in the room, Sergeant Humprheys and Hank Golden, a civilian consultant running a diagnostic on some of the systems, stopped what they were doing, sensing that something big was happening.

As Walter listened, an large smile appeared on his face. "Hold, please, for General Landry," he said. He rose and went to the phone on the wall and picked it up. "General Landry," he said, when the head of the SGC answered the phone himself, "we've received a message from Byliason that I believe you would like to hear yourself. . . . Yes, sir."

Walter went and sat back at his station and looked back and up toward the general's office to see him coming around and down the steps.

"Walter," Humphreys whispered impatiently. "What the hell is it?"

Walter just shook his head and grinned at the former college football linebacker leaning over him, unfazed by the man's bulk.

Landry came into the room. "Go ahead," he said. "Put them through."

The sound of static and feedback they'd become used to from Byliason transmissions came through first, and then a tinny voice. "General Landry, sir, this is Captain Arssinian. We have received a signal from Commander Thor, sir. It reads, 'Major Carter and Teal'c are safe and aboard _The Daniel Jackson_. We will return to Earth within two of your weeks.' Over.

There was a stunned silence in the Control Room, and Walter's grin grew even broader. Then Humphreys whispered, "Holy sh**," forgetting the general standing not three feet away, and Golden, who'd worked with Carter on a dozen projects in the past, fell back into his chair as if his legs wouldn't hold him.

"Well I'll be damned," Landry said, and he started to smile as well. "Well, I'll be damned," he repeated. Then he leaned into the mike: "Transmission received, Captain. Good work. Expect a little something extra in your paycheck."

"Yes, sir," Arssinian said, and Walter could tell the veteran SGC captain was smiling as well. "Thank you, sir."

Then Landry turned to his aide, who was hovering at the top of the staircase. "Airman," he bellowed, "get me George Hammond on the line now!"

**Brazilian rainforest, Upper Xingu Dig 17**

Daniel didn't forget his promise to Elena that he would stay for as long as he could, but the night of the day Rava was found, he packed a bag to keep under his cot, with a change of clothes, food, water, a knife, bandages, rope, a small first-aid kit, pretty much whatever he could reproduce from the gear he would bring off-world. And he started to spend the time he should have spent months ago planning an escape route: a small boat down the river, disappearing into the rainforest, the transport trucks out of the mining and lumber camps. . . .

He needed to be ready. And for the first time, he found that he was restless, as if stepping in front of the guns had reminded him that there were still Goa'uld in the universe, that there was something else he should be doing, was meant to do. And he started to have the dream again, of Sam and Teal'c calling out his name. He wondered if, after all these months, they had made their way home or if they were still stranded light years away. He wondered if there was a way to find out.

But then he thought, suddenly, of how he'd once had everything, and how his restlessness, his inability to accept life as it was, had destroyed that life and taken Sha're's.

And he remembered, again, Hammond telling him it would be a long time, perhaps forever, before he could stop running and he felt again the hands on his head as he waited for the blond killer to snap his neck, and he knew his chance of returning to the SGC, of helping to find Sam and Teal'c, of even finding anything out _about_ Sam and Teal'c, was as remote as it was the day he left Colorado Springs. No, if he left here—_when _he left here—it would only to be to find another place to hide.

He wasn't ready to be that alone again. He wasn't ready to start over. He wasn't ready to leave Elena.

So Daniel tried to let himself just _be_ for a little while longer. He worked in the ditches, sometimes still losing himself in the painstaking, meticulous process of excavation; he sat with the others in the evening, Elena close by his side throwing in the occasional lazy comment, listening to the students talk about everything from history to astronomy to where they hoped to go next to popular films he'd never heard of to the meals they'd have as soon as they left. He went for walks in the rainforest when the weather was too threatening to work, trying to commit the sounds, smells and sights to memory, spotting a tiny but brilliantly colored poison dart frog or a spider monkey and her baby jumping from tree to tree high in the canopy. And at night he and Elena would lie, tangled together, unwilling to let go, knowing their days together were numbered.

In the meantime, on the surface, everything went on as before. Manoel and Elena were thrilled with the progress of the dig. The surface they had discovered in Section 17 was almost certainly the remains of a major roadway, and they had uncovered a trove of cooking elements and even what looked like children's toys in Sections 4 and 6.

The German girls left and another Brazilian student arrived. Evones shot another snake.

The Kaipo men continued to show up to work, first offering solemn apologies for their suspicions and then, to everyone's relief, acting as if their brothers had not just threatened the lives of the rest of the people in the camp. And then the children came back, perhaps more wary of the foreigners now, and much more careful, but still managing to brighten everyone's day with their antics. Even Manoel, who grouched whenever they appeared, seemed secretly pleased that they felt safe enough to be there.

Daniel felt himself settling in, relaxing just a little. Even Saunders seemed to be glaring at him less. He'd gone to Altamira for his monthly R&R and returned calmer somehow. And the fact that nothing terrible had occurred upon his return, no police, no men with guns, no one coming to haul Daniel away, had been a good sign: maybe the man was letting go.

And one day Rava, almost two weeks after that horrible night, had returned, holding her father's hand, walking gingerly, looking sad but unafraid. Daniel had gone to talk to the man, and he had said that his daughter had asked to come, and he wondered if they could sit in the kitchen for a while so that Rava could watch the other children play. Daniel had said of course, and had walked them to the kitchen. He'd washed the dirt from his hands and prepared a plate of cookies, fruit and bread for them—he knew the Kaipo would never have a guest without providing food—and poured some sweet tea for Rava and coffee for himself and her father. When he sat down, Rava smiled at him and said, quietly, so he could barely hear her over the sound of the generator, _"Olá, Jacques."_ Daniel smiled back. "Hello, little one," he replied in Portuguese and then in Kaipo. "I am glad to see you here." She smiled again, shyly, and her father nodded at him. They sat companionably for a while, Rava's father—Iriho, he said to call him—asking about what they'd found on the dig and Rava occasionally giggling at the other children or exclaiming at one thing or another.

Then Jens had appeared before them, looking both hesitant and determined. Rava had smiled up at him, but Jens seemed afraid to smile back, and her smile faded.

Daniel looked questioningly at Iriho, who just shrugged, so he said, "Jens, why don't you join us? I'm sure Rava would like that."

Jens bent his long form onto the bench across from them and looked nervously from Iriho to Rava. "Jacques, I wanted to explain to her father," he started to say in English, which he was more comfortable speaking than Portuguese.

"I don't think there's anything to explain, Jens," Daniel said.

"Still," Jens said.

Daniel turned to Iriho and said a few words, and the man nodded.

"Rava and I were talking about all the plants in the rainforest that can help people—it's a subject that fascinates me—and she offered to show me the ones she knew. There was nothing, I mean, you know there was nothing _wrong_ about it."

Daniel said, "We know, Jens. and then translated as best he could for Rava's father.

Jens continued, talking faster. "I asked her to show me more later and promised her a sweet; I meant another day, Jacques. I never imagined she would come back out at night. She speaks so little Portuguese and only a few words of English. . . . I don't know how. . . ." Jens stopped, the distress evident in his voice.

Before Daniel could translate, Iriho started to speak. When he was done, Daniel turned to Jens. "He says that he knows you are not to blame, Jens. He said Rava told him you were very nice and very tall and liked to talk about plants and she knows you would never harm her."

Jens let out a breath in relief, and Rava, who had listened to her father's words, smiled up at him and held out a cookie. "Bis-kit?" she said.

Jens finally let himself smile at his young friend. "Yes, Rava," he said in English, "very good, that's a biscuit. And thank you!" Then he popped the whole thing in his mouth and chewed enthusiastically, causing Rava to giggle appreciatively.

Daniel and Iriho had laughed as well, and he felt Elena's hands on his shoulders and he could feel her laughing too, and then four of the Kaipo boys had run up demanding cookies also, one of them clambering onto Daniel's lap, and for a moment Daniel had the strangest sense of belonging, of _family._

He heard someone clear his throat behind him, and he turned, still smiling, expecting to see Manoel impatiently waiting for them all to return to work. But it wasn't Manoel, it was Saunders, looking grim. "Perrault," he said. "I need to talk to you. Now."

The smile fell from Daniel's face and his heart plummeted.

Just like that, it was over.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Daniel, his arm still wrapped around the small boy on his lap, turned toward Saunders, who was at Elena's side. Elena was looking at Saunders with her eyebrows raised, her expression telegraphing both irritation and curiosity.

"Is there such an need to be rude, Mr. Saunders?" she said, addressing him in English, since that was how he spoke to Daniel. "And what business do you have with Jacques?"

Daniel plastered a smile on his face and reached back to squeeze one of Elena's hands, which were still on his shoulders. "It's all right, Elena," he said. "You didn't hire Reggie for his manners, right Reggie?"

Saunders gave his own false smile. "That's right. I didn't mean to be rude. There's just something I need to discuss with Perrault here."

Daniel felt dread creeping up his spine. "No, problem, Reggie," he said, trying to maintain his casual tone. He let go of Elena's hand and lifted the boy gently off his lap. Jens continued to goof around with the other children, oblivious to the drama taking place before them. "Excuse me, please," Daniel said in Kaipo to Iriho, whose eyes moved alertly back and forth between Daniel and Saunders, understanding the tension if not the words, and then Daniel rose, letting Elena's hands slide off his shoulders.

"Jacques?" Elena said, and he knew she wasn't fooled by his false cheerfulness. He smiled at her anyway, a real smile thanking her for caring. "I won't be long," he said in Portuguese.

Daniel and Saunders moved away to stand between the kitchen and the lab. With the generator going, they knew no one would be able to hear what they had to say. Out from the protection of the kitchen roof, the sun beat down on their heads, and Daniel felt a drop of sweat roll down his back.

"Look, Perrault," Saunders spoke in almost a rush of words, "I was mad about you grabbing my gun that morning. I thought you could have gotten all of us killed. And I really began to think that you might be dangerous, that you were hiding too much. . . ." Saunders stopped, as if waiting for Daniel to admit he was right, but Daniel stayed quiet. _Jack would be proud_, the thought flitted through his mind and was gone.

Saunders cleared his throat. "Anyway," he said, "I was just watching you there, with the Kaipo kids, and Elena beaming like that, that Danish kid laughing, and even you looking . . . happy, I guess. . . ."

Saunders's words petered out again, and Daniel finally said, "What is it you're trying to say, Reggie?"

"I was wrong," Saunders said, bluntly. "All right? I know I was wrong. My ego was bruised, and I wanted to be right, but I know I wasn't. You're not dangerous, at least not to the people here, and if it wasn't for you, I'd probably be dead right now."

Daniel let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Is that all this was, an apology? He wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry, he'd been that scared. "Reggie," he started to say, to tell him it was O.K., but Saunders wasn't done.

"So I did something, and I think maybe I shouldn't have. Because I realized after I did it that maybe you weren't just hiding from the past, like most of us, but maybe you were actually _hiding_. And if you are, then what right did I have to mess that up?"

Daniel felt his heart sink again. "What exactly did you do, Reggie?" he asked.

Saunders looked away from Daniel's face and then back again. "I had a friend run your fingerprints. I haven't heard back yet, but. . . ."

Daniel had the strange sensation of everything coming to a stop. The sound of the generator faded to nothing, a pair of blue and yellow macaws was suspended in midair, Charles and Ana, on their way to the kitchen froze midstep. Only Saunders's mouth kept moving, his words low and garbled. Then everything sped up again, and Daniel blinked. He realized he hadn't been breathing, and took in a lungful of humid air and blew it out slowly.

"When?" he said, his voice sounding flat and strange to his own ears.

"Three days ago, right before I left Altamira," Saunders said.

Three days? Daniel felt another flash of fear, terror, really if he'd admit that to himself. But maybe the people who hid him had purged his fingerprints from the computer databases; he thought it could be done; Sam would have been able to do it.

He forced his voice to take the same steady, inflectionless tone as before and asked, "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Saunders admitted. "I had him query government agencies for someone with a military background, who was also an archaeologist and a . . ." he stumbled over the phrase, "a guy who's good with languages."

Daniel closed his eyes. Almost without thinking, he let the word slip out: "Linguist," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound of the generator.

"Yeah," Saunders said. "That's it."

-----

Saunders, watching Perrault closely as he told him what he had done, saw first fear in the archaeologist's eyes, then defeat. The man nodded at him almost as if he were in a daze, then looked toward where Elena was standing. Elena, who had been watching also, took a step in their direction and then stopped, seeing something, Saunders thought, in Perrault's eyes. Elena's own eyes widened, and she shook her head, and Perrault's face seemed almost to crumple. _Crap_, Reggie thought. _Crap_, _I really screwed up here._

Then Perrault turned back to Saunders, his features already a blank, and said, his voice still steady but a little hoarse, "Thank you for telling me, Reggie. I have to go." He started to walk away, toward his tent, but then stopped and his shoulders slumped as if with some new realization. "You need to warn your friend, Reggie," he said, not looking back. "It may already be too late if they've found him. I'm sorry."

Saunders stared after Perrault as walked away. _Jesus_, he thought. _Jesus._ Had he just gotten his friend in Altamira killed? Hanson was a good guy, had gotten him this job. What the hell had he stepped into? He watched as Perrault ducked into his tent, and he watched Elena follow him in. A few moments later Perrault came out with a fully loaded pack, Elena still behind him. She grabbed Perrault's arm, and he stopped and looked down at her. Saunders couldn't hear what they were saying, but he knew they were arguing. Jacques dropped his pack, suddenly, then reached up and took Elena's face lightly between his hands. Elena started to pull away, but instead just put her hands on his arms and listened to whatever he had to say. Then she pushed his arms down and stepped back. She was shouting, now, and Saunders could hear her.

"They're not enough, Jacques. Your fu**ing words aren't enough, not for this." Then she spun around and walked away.

The people in the kitchen, including Ana and Charles now, stopped what they were doing, and Saunders saw Manoel stand up from where he was working at the site and look in their direction.

Perrault ignored them all, watching Elena's back until she disappeared over the rise toward the river. He continued to stare in her direction even after she was out of sight, and Saunders had to look away from the expression on his face, the pain so close to the surface Saunders could almost feel it from where he stood. When Saunders looked back, Perrault had picked up his pack and thrown it over his shoulder and was headed in the other direction, past the dig and straight for the rainforest. Manoel yelled something to him as he went by, but Perrault just shook his head and kept walking. Saunders figured he'd never see the man again.

Suddenly, though, Perrault stopped and looked up into the sky as if searching for something, and then Saunders heard it too: the unmistakable staccato beat of a helicopter rotor.

888888

_Three days_, Daniel thought. _Three days._ He'd stayed too long, and he knew it, and now. . . . He ducked into his tent and grabbed his pack from under his cot. He heard someone come in behind him, and he knew it was her, but he didn't turn around. He went to shove his journal into the top of his pack, and the three photographs inside fluttered to the floor. He picked up two of them and turned to get the third, but Elena was faster. She stood up and ran her finger lightly over the picture of him as a little boy with his parents in Egypt. She looked at him then. "Is this your parents?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"And you?"

"Yes."

"May I see the others?"

Daniel silently handed over the photographs.

She stared at the picture of Sha're and looked up at Daniel, but didn't say anything. Then she pulled out the picture of Teal'c, Jack, Sam and Daniel standing together, arms around each other's shoulders.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Friends," he said, simply.

"Did you run away from them too?" she asked, handing the pictures back.

Daniel turned his head away and slid the pictures back into the journal.

"Yes," he said, still not looking at her as he put the journal more carefully in his pack this time. Then he met her eyes. "Yes, I left them behind too."

"Is that what you do?" she asked.

"Yes," Daniel said, realizing that was now the truth, that that was whom he'd become. "I'm sorry."

He picked up the pack and walked past her, through the flap of the tent and outside. Elena followed again and grabbed him by the arm.

"Jacques, just like that? I'm sorry and then you're gone? One minute we're laughing together and the next minute you're saying goodbye?I can't believe you have to do this, Jacques. There must be another way, something we can fix!"

Daniel shook his head and pulled his arm away. He turned to face her. "No! This can't be fixed, Elena," he almost yelled, then lowered his voice again. "I have to leave now. I should never have stayed this long." He closed his eyes, thinking of all the lies he'd told to the people here and thinking again of Saunders's friend and what the men who were chasing Daniel would do to him, had likely already done to him. "I never should have come," he whispered.

"You, bastard," Elena said. "What we had here meant nothing to you?"

God, how could she think that? Daniel thought. Did she really not know how much he loved her?

He dropped his pack and put his hands to her face. She put her hands on his bare forearms as if to push him away, but she didn't. The warmth of her touch sent a tremor through him. "Elena," he said. "I would give anything, _anything_ to stay here with you. You're everything I want, everything I've ever wanted."

He saw the tears in her eyes and then a flash of anger, and he wondered if when she looked at him now she saw the "_idiota_" who had betrayed her so many years before. She pushed his hands down and stepped away from him. "Damn you, Jacques, damn you and your pretty words," she said quietly, then started to yell: "Well, they're not enough, Jacques. Your fu**ing words aren't enough, not for this!"

Daniel stared after Elena as she stalked away. He'd known it was wrong from that first night, known that it would have to end like this, known it might tear her apart, tear both of them apart, but he'd let it happen. As he watched her head toward the Xingu, he closed his eyes to try and shut out the parade of faces of people he'd loved and lost. When he opened them again, Elena was gone. He picked up his pack and walked toward the rainforest with no idea at all of where he'd go from there. Manoel shouted to him, asking him where the hell he was going, but Daniel just shook his head and kept walking. With not a little self-disgust, he started his mantra, blocking out the stares of his friends, of the people who had trusted him, blocking out the vision of Elena disappearing over the rise. _Don't think, keep moving_, he'd started to repeat as he came to the first big trees. _Don't think, keep moving._

And then he heard it, and he stopped. A helicopter. He turned and looked up, searching the cloudless blue sky, and he saw it, little more than a distant spot in the sky, heading their way. Daniel froze. Ever instinct he had said to run, to fade away into the forest before the dead-eyed men of his nightmares could find him. But. . . .

Daniel looked back at the camp, at the Kaipo men and the children, at the students, at Manoel and Charles and at Saunders, who still seemed frozen in place, although now staring at the sky with the rest of them. He looked toward the rise where Elena had disappeared. What were the chances that whoever was in that copter would find him gone, ask their questions and leave without harming anyone? Or would they torture to find their answers? Consider everyone at the camp witnesses that had to be "eliminated"?

It could be a false alarm, he thought. It could have nothing to do with him. The smartest thing to do would be to hide, wait and see, act if he had to.

Daniel started at his thoughts then and shook his head in disgust. Would he have hidden, leaving his team in the open, and waited to see if whoever was coming through the Gate was hostile? Had he really come so far that he would sacrifice his friends to save himself? No, he knew exactly what he needed to do, had done it on too many "fubar" missions to pretend not to.

He stepped into the cover of the trees and put his pack where it couldn't be seen, then walked quickly back to the dig and over to Miacuro, who had returned to work just the day before. He and the other Kaipo men had already gotten out of the ditch they were working and were looking with the others at the helicopter as it grew closer. Daniel glanced up and thought that it was still too far away for anyone inside to make out any details of the camp.

"Miacuro," he said quietly in Kaipo, "I need your help. The men in that . . . _helicóptero_," he said, using the Portuguese word, having no idea if there even was a Kaipo word for helicopter, ". . . could be very dangerous men. I need you please to take your people and these students"—he pointed to Clara, Mateo and Drew, the last a big kid from Missouri who had arrived a few days before—"and hide them. I'll try to get the others to follow." Miacuro nodded and waved to Iriho, and the man took Rava's hand and spoke to the other boys and started walking toward them. The Kaipo's relationship with the Brazilian government and the private interests in the area had not always been friendly, and they knew trouble when they saw it.

Daniel turned toward the three students who still worked a little ways away, while glancing up curiously at him and at the helicopter. "You have to go with Miacuro," he said, shortly, in English. "The men in the helicopter may be dangerous. Go now."

"Oh, c'mon, Jacques," Drew said. "You can't be serious. What is this, a spy movie?"

"I don't have time to argue," Daniel said. "You have to go."

Clara and Mateo looked to Manoel, who was steps away, and Daniel said to him, "Manoel, they have to go. If the helicopter means what I think it means, they have to go now. You all do."

Manoel gave him a hard stare, and Daniel looked back, not blinking. Manoel shook his head in anger then, and turned toward the students. "Go with them," he barked, gesturing toward Miacuro and Riaolha, who stood at the forest's edge, waiting. The other Kaipo were already gone.

Mateo and Clara started walking, and Drew stared wide-eyed for a moment before jumping out of the ditch to join them. "I can't believe this," he said. "I didn't sign up for this shit!" But he followed the others. Daniel looked to Manoel. "You should go too," he said.

"I'm not leaving the dig!"

Daniel knew there was no time to argue. The sound of the helicopter was loud enough that it was almost drowning out the sound of the generator, and he looked up and swore. He could make out it's shape clearly now, and could even see that it had no markings, no call letters, nothing. _Shit, oh, shit_, Daniel thought, feeling the panic return.

"Then help me get the others!" he yelled, and started running toward the kitchen, where Charles, Ana and Jens stood gaping at him. There was no more time to get them all to the rainforest he knew, but maybe the Xingu? He looked in the direction of the river, trying to figure the best way for them to run, and saw Elena coming over the rise. "No!" he shouted at her, gesturing frantically. "Go back!" But Elena shook her head at him and kept coming.

He turned to Charles and the others. "Go, hide!" he started yelling, sounding he was sure like a madman. "Get to the river! Take Elena with you!" Jens, having so recently learned how quickly life can go to hell, looked at Daniel and then toward the other students, running now, into the rainforest. He said something to Charles and Ana and bolted for the river, running past Elena, who looked at him in confusion. Charles and Ana, though, started walking toward Daniel. He looked toward Saunders then, who still stood as if frozen to the spot, and shouted, "Reggie, get them the hell out of here!"

Saunders seemed to snap out of whatever dream state he was in and nodded once in Daniel's direction and started moving toward the kitchen. But then he stopped short and stared past Daniel toward the dig. Daniel, not wanting to know, turned to see what Saunders was staring at.

The helicopter was already on the ground, the force of the wind from the blades scattering dirt and tools around the site. Two men, wearing black BDUs without insignia and carrying MP5s, had already jumped out, and they were standing staring almost without expression as Manoel, his outrage that they had landed in the middle of his dig temporarily blinding him to the danger, screamed and gestured at them. One of the men, then, casually pointed his weapon at the ground and shot off a round. Manoel jumped back a step and stopped talking.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel saw Charles jump at the noise also and then, finally, pull Ana by the arm and take her toward the tents. The same man who had shot his weapon before, shot in the air then, and shook his head at Charles, who froze. Daniel felt, rather than saw, Elena behind him. He didn't look around, only said loudly enough to be heard over the motors, "Please don't move, Elena."

"But Manoel," she said. "He's. . . ."

"Please," Daniel said again, and she stilled.

The pilot cut the engine then, and the rotor blades slowed. Two more men, also in black BDUs and armed, jumped from the helicopter and stepped forward, and one said something to Manoel. Manoel turned and started walking toward them, with the stiff gate of a man who has a weapon pointed at his back. Anger and fear played uncomfortably across his face. He walked past Daniel and Elena to the generator and switched it off, and the camp was suddenly, eerily, silent.

Daniel looked from Manuel back to the men at the helicopter, and saw that the man who had ordered Manoel to turn off the generator was looking straight at him. He met the man's eyes and stared back coolly, but the panic he was already feeling, the fear for himself and everyone at the camp, took a tighter hold on his chest.

He recognized those eyes, was unlikely ever to forget them, as they had starred in countless nightmares since he'd first seen them. It was the man who'd shot Jorgans in the chest, the man who had made it so clear to Daniel that his life was worth nothing.

The last, the only, thing Daniel had ever heard the man say, the words matching the coldness of the eyes, ran through Daniel's head now: _"No final decision has been made regarding this target. You acted prematurely." _

Daniel clenched his jaw, but otherwise didn't move.

Apparently a final decision had been made.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

For long minutes no one spoke, and the quiet left behind by the generator was broken only by the sounds of the rainforest—the whistling and chattering of the squirrel monkeys, the constant buzzing and chirping of the insects, the hooting of the birds. He heard Charles murmur something softly to Ana, and behind him and off to one side he became aware of Saunders cursing rhythmically under his breath. _("Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it.")_

And then a loud, clear, cold voice, the one he'd tried in vain to forget, carried across the camp from the helicopter: "It's time for you to come with us, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel didn't move. It wasn't only fear. And it wasn't bravery or stubborness. He stood rooted to the spot because he didn't know what to do. Elena, Charles, Manoel, they were all so exposed; it would be so simple for the men with guns to open fire. He didn't know how to stop them.

Elena was standing so closely behind him he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

"You?" she breathed.

He nodded, but kept his eyes forward.

"Now, see," Charles voice suddenly boomed out, making them all start. "This is all some terrible misunderstanding. There's no Dr. Jackson here." Did Charles really not know, Daniel wondered, or was that his decent friend's attempt to protect him?

The man in charge made no sign, however, that he'd heard Charles. He lifted his chin in Daniel's direction, and the two men who had first left the helicopter, one olive-skinned and stocky, the other short and thin-faced, started forward. Daniel then, not wanting the men with the guns any closer to the rest of the people in the camp—any closer to Elena—raised his hands in a placating gesture and called out, "It's all right. I'm coming."

"Jacques," Elena hissed. "You can't."

"I don't have a choice, Elena," he said quietly and, still not looking back but conscious of her eyes on him, started walking slowly toward the dig and the men who'd come for him. He saw Charles, off to the side, take a step in his direction, but Daniel shook his head and held one hand up, and Charles stopped, uncertainty and something else—maybe sorrow?—evident on his face.

Daniel continued on, trying to keep his gait steady, trying to stop his heart from thudding so painfully in his chest.

His slow pace belied the confusion of thoughts that moved in a jagged progression through his mind: visions of the carnage of his last night in Colorado Springs, the hopeless wish that his team would appear to save them, Jack's mutilated body on Thor's ship, the gaping unknown that was his future, the almost overwhelming desire to look back to Elena and let her know, at least with his eyes, how sorry he was. He tried to shut it all out, to concentrate instead on coming up with a plan, with anything, to stop what he was certain was about to happen. If the men started to shoot, if they turned their guns on Elena and Charles and the others, what could he do? Throw himself in front of the bullets?

Well . . . maybe, yes, he thought. The four men, in their confidence—and Daniel wished he could say it was overconfidence—had not fanned out and were, instead, standing side-by-side. In a few moments he'd be close enough to knock down at least two of them if they started to raise their weapons, maybe giving some of the others a chance to escape. If the gunmen had orders to take him alive, then they'd try not to shoot him; if they were here to kill him, well, then, it wouldn't make much of a difference.

As plans went, it was a woefully bad one, but it was all he had.

They men made no move with their weapons, though, so Daniel stopped within a few feet and waited, feet apart, arms slightly raised from his sides, ready, if he had to be, to make a move. Knowing where the orders would come from, Daniel took his first really good look at the man who had filled his nightmares. Short reddish-brown hair, fair skin, medium build, square face, thin lips, nothing remarkable, nothing that would make him stand out in a crowd—except for the cold, dead eyes. Daniel looked into those eyes now, hoping for some kind of sign of what was to come, but there was nothing there. Nothing.

"Hands behind your back, Dr. Jackson," the man said, staring straight back at Daniel.

Daniel felt the first tendril of panic wrap around his heart. He wasn't ready to be tied up, helpless. He couldn't help anyone with his hands, literally, tied behind his back.

"Wait," he started to say, "you don't have to. . . ." He caught the slight nod of the head too late, and the stocky man was on him, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him up against the side of the helicopter. The air left his lungs with a whoosh and his head bounced hard once against the overheated metal. He felt his legs folding at the same time as he heard Elena's voice shout, "Jacques!" and Manoel's cry of "Elena, no!"

Manoel's cry sent Daniel over the edge into panic. He got his legs under him and pushed back hard against the man who was still holding him, with his arm still twisted high on his back, against the helicopter. They both went down and Daniel rolled over fast enough to see the thin-faced man take aim toward the camp, toward Elena. He lunged halfway up, his legs still tangled in the stocky man's limbs and head-butted the thin man in the knees, causing him to fall backward as he shot, scattering bullets in the air. Daniel heard screams from behind him as he hit the ground face-first, and he rolled and twisted to see what was happening, kicking wildly as the first man tried to grab his legs.

Elena was on the ground, with Saunders on top of her, as if he'd tackled her from behind. Both had flung their arms over their heads at the sound of the submachine gun. Ana and Charles had ducked down into a squat and were covering their heads as well, and Manoel was on his knees, looking toward his sister.

Daniel felt himself being hauled roughly to his feet from behind, and realized it was the fourth man. He had only a vague impression of black skin and impressive strength before the thin-faced man stood up and, cursing, hit Daniel hard in the gut with his MP5. Daniel cried out and would have doubled over if he hadn't been held from behind. He felt the bile rise and vomited. The man cursed, stepped back and started to swing his weapon again. Daniel, still gagging, tried to brace himself for another blow, but then the dead-eyed man's voice came, harsh and unyielding: "Enough!

The thin-faced man stopped, his features still tight with anger. The stocky man struggled to his feet, and both men looked to their boss for orders.

"Kill them," he said, his voice once more controlled and emotionless.

Daniel, his arms still locked behind him by the big man, started to struggle. "Wait!" he coughed. He watched the men raise their weapons, and he saw Elena staring at him with tears in her eyes and Saunders, still half on top of her, start to reach for his weapon, with a look on his face that Daniel recognized from his years on the front lines, a look that said, If I'm going to die here, I'm damn well going to take some of you with me.

Still sick from the pain, Daniel searched frantically for the words that might stop what was about to happen, the second time in weeks he'd tried to throw words at bullets. But this was different. The Kaipo had been angry and afraid; these men were killers. "You want an international incident?" he shouted. "Is that what the people you work for want?"

The dead-eyed man raised his hand slightly, and the gunmen, whose fingers had already been on the triggers, stopped. "Shit," the stocky man said tensely, pointing his weapon at the sky. "Make up your mind!"

The man ignored him and looked to Daniel, who'd stopped struggling.

"These are important people here," Daniel said more quietly. "They have relatives, friends, people with money, people who will never stop looking for their killers. Others have come and gone; they'll remember me. They'll give a description. This will blow up in your bosses' faces."

The man said nothing, but he didn't order his people to start shooting either. So Daniel kept talking.

*******

Saunders's hand was shaking as he pulled it slowly away from his gun. _Shit. Shit. _He'd seen the men squeezing the triggers and he'd been certain they were all dead. _Shit_. Before the helicopter had even landed, he'd watched Evones slip out of his tent and out toward the river, and he'd cursed him as a coward, but now he wished he had found a way to run too. _Shit._

Elena made a sound, a half-sob, half-moan, and he shifted off her legs, moving slowly, trying not to draw the attention of the men who'd been ready to shoot and were still watching them. He didn't think she was hurt, but he couldn't do anything about it now anyway. He wondered briefly what the hell she thought she was doing, running toward the men like that, as if she could single-handedly pull Perrault to safety. He looked at Perrault now. The man still had his arms pinned behind his back by the muscle-bound guy with the sunglasses; Perrault was leaning forward slightly, as if he was hurting. He had blood streaming down his face from a cut on his head, his glasses were bent and hanging by one arm . . . and he was talking a mile a minute. Saunders couldn't hear what was being said, but he knew without a doubt what was happening: Perrault was talking for their lives.

Saunders didn't like their chances. He knew these men, or men like them. In his years in Afghanistan and Iraq he'd seen them all. The two thugs in the middle were hired hands, men drawn to violence and bloodshed, who would kill human beings as casually as if they were swatting flies, who would probably do it for fun. The man holding Perrault, on the other hand, was a professional; he did his job and did it well, a soldier still, fighting now only for the paycheck. Saunders suspected that with an offer of enough cash or an immediate threat to his life, the man would walk away from most assignments without looking back.

But not from this one.

Because Saunders didn't suspect, he _knew_, that all three men feared the man giving the orders, knew that crossing him would lead immediately, irrevocably, to their deaths. He'd seen it from the moment the man had jumped from the chopper, could see it in the deceptive ease of his movements, the way one hand stayed lightly on his weapon, the way his eyes seemed to take in everything yet show nothing. When one of his kind used to walk by in Afghanistan, all talk would stop, the soldiers, even the officers, would look away, pretend something else had caught their attention. These men were the true killers. Black ops, yes, but more. It was as if a piece of their souls were missing. . . .

When Saunders had seen him, he'd known that Perrault was right: His friend in Altamira was already dead, and if it suited him, they would all follow, their lives as meaningless as if they had never existed at all.

What the hell had Perrault done, who or what had he been involved with, to bring this man down on him?

Saunders tensed as the man in question turned slightly, then made a strange motion with his hands still on his gun, as if to say to Perrault—or, no, what was the name he'd used?—_Go ahead, be my guest_. The big man released Perrault's arms then, and he stumbled and went to his knees. Saunders heard Elena's sharp intake of breath, but she didn't move. The big man reached for Perrault again, but Perrault shook his head and got himself, slowly and obviously painfully, to his feet. He blinked his eyes and reached up to straighten his glasses, the slight tremor of his hand visible across the camp.

Then he cleared his throat and began to speak. Elena rose to her knees and stared at him intently, but Perrault was looking everywhere, at everyone, except at her.

"Look," he said, sounding, against all odds, very much as Jacques always did, and Saunders couldn't even imagine the effort that must have taken. "I'm sorry for all this. You all know I'm not who I pretended to be, that I was hiding here. The truth is, I was involved with some very dangerous people and we did some very . . . bad things." Perrault closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was finding the words hard to say, then went on. "Some people would call us terrorists."

At that Elena, still on her knees, cried, "No, Jacques, no, you're still lying to us!" The men with the guns shifted slightly at that, and the head man turned and looked at her, his eyes narrowed slightly.

Saunders could see the flash of fear in Perrault's eyes, but he still didn't look at Elena. Instead, for a brief moment, he looked directly at Saunders, his eyes telegraphing a clear message. Saunders reached out and put a hand on Elena's shoulder. "Stop," he said quietly. "This isn't helping. You aren't helping him." Elena tried to shake his hand off, but he held her more tightly and hissed, "They'll use you to hurt him!" He felt Elena freeze then, and he slowly took his hand from her shoulder.

Perrault, in the meantime, kept talking. "No, no. I'm not lying," he was saying, "I wish I were. These men are just here to take me back for trial. If they appear a little . . . rough, it's because they know what I've done, what I'm capable of, and they had no way of knowing if you all were . . . terrorists . . . as well. It's their job not to take any chances. They're convinced now, though, that you know nothing of my past, that you're just more of my . . . _victims._ So you're going to be all right." And here Perrault, finally, looked at Elena for the first time. "You're going to be all right," he repeated, and turned his head toward the man in charge, waiting.

The man looked at the camp and gave a slight, impatient nod, then gestured to the black man, who pulled a pair of plastic cuffs from his pocket and grabbed one of Perrault's wrists, then the other. Perrault winced but otherwise didn't react. He gave once last look around the camp before he was turned and pushed toward the chopper. The big man jumped in and pulled Perrault after him, then the boss, and finally the last two men. The pilot, whom none of them had really gotten a look at, started the engine, and the rotor blades began to whirr.

"_Meu Deus,"_ Elena whispered, the pain and grief making her voice hoarse. _"Meu Deus."_

The helicopter lifted off slowly, then turned and gained speed, heading back in the direction it had come. They all watched, silently, until it was again just a speck in the sky. Then Ana started to sob, and Charles tried awkwardly to comfort her: "There, there," he said. "There, there. It's over now." Manoel stood and stared blankly at the torn-up dig site for a moment before turning and walking toward Elena. Elena knelt, frozen still, staring at the horizon.

Saunders, feeling sick to his stomach with relief and guilt and fear for the man he barely knew, tried to think of something to say to her, an apology or some words of comfort. But really, what was there to say?

Jacques Perrault was gone. None of them would ever see him again.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 16

Daniel watched through the open hatch of the helicopter, past the backs of the men in front of him, as the camp that he had called home for months disappeared from view. The terror he'd felt when he thought that his captors would open fire, that Elena would be lost, that Charles would never make it home to his family, had been followed by relief so overwhelming he'd thought he might pass out. _They didn't shoot_, he'd thought, almost in wonder._ They didn't shoot. _ But now, as they flew out of sight, deeper and deeper over the Amazonian forest, he just felt numb, and so, so tired. It was over. Whatever it was he'd had there—love? a life?—it was over, and he didn't want to think anymore, not now. He knew the grief would come, and that the visions of the horrifying last moments at the camp would, eventually, replay themselves endlessly, joining the other nightmare reels that haunted his days and nights, and that he would ache for Elena, for her passion, for the sound of her voice, for the feel of her body wrapped around his . . . but for now exhaustion trumped everything else.

He shifted uncomfortably where he half sat, half lay against the wall of the helicopter. His gut burned where he'd been struck, and the plastic cuffs bit into his wrists. He thought the cut above his eye had stopped bleeding, but his head still throbbed there, echoing the rapid beat of the rotor blades. He suddenly felt sick again and leaned over farther and emptied what was left of the meager contents of his stomach.

The two men in front of him, the one who'd hit him and the stocky one, pulled away, and one of them muttered, "Jesus, that's disgusting," but no one turned to look at him. The big man leaned against the other side of the helicopter, looking out at the forest below them, and their boss sat leaning against the back of the empty copilot's seat, staring forward.

Daniel maneuvered himself, painfully, so he was sitting upright again, his knees drawn up almost to his chest, His throat was raw and he longed to clean the taste of blood and bile from his mouth. He knew if he had asked an enemy Jaffa for this, it most likely would have gained him only another punch or kick, but he thought, for some reason, he might have a chance for something so simple from these men, as cruel as they were.

He tried unsuccessfully to clear his throat, then croaked as loudly as he could, "May I have some water, please?"

None of the men moved, or gave any indication that they'd heard him, and Daniel considered asking again, more loudly, but realized it would do no good. To these men, short of vomiting down their backs, he had ceased to exist. Daniel sighed and watched the vivid blue of the sky fly by, and he wondered, almost idly, if wherever they were taking him he would see the sky again.

The pilot shouted something that Daniel couldn't hear, then, and the dead-eyed man leaned forward and said to the stocky man, "Take the cuffs off."

"Why bother to. . . ?" the man started to reply, but stopped at the look in his boss's eyes. He pulled a pocket knife out, then swung his legs around so he was facing Daniel and barked, "Go ahead. Turn around." Daniel, tired as he was, just stared back. He knew that the order wasn't some act of kindness, not from the men who had just refused him water, and he figured that whatever the motive, it could not be good.

"Aw, the hell with it," the stocky man spat. He grabbed a fistful of Daniel's hair and cracked the back of his head against the side of the helicopter, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him face-forward to the floor. This time Daniel's forehead hit. His glasses flew from his face, and he felt the cut open up again. "Son of a bitch!" Daniel found himself cursing once and then again as the knife cut roughly through the plastic and into his wrists. "Son of a bitch!" Once his arms were released, they fell almost uselessly to his sides, tingling from lack of circulation, and he clenched and unclenched his fists to try to get some feeling back. When he thought he could, he pushed himself up and got dizzily to his knees. No one spoke, but all three of the hired hands now were looking to their boss, a question in their eyes.

"Do it now," the man said. Daniel's eyes widened as realized for the first time that they never intended him to see the end of this trip. He'd known that death was one of the possibilities, was one of the _better_ possibilities for his future, but this, now? They had searched for him for months, probably killed Saunders's friend, terrorized the people at the dig, just to kill him now? The anger he'd started to feel when he was being bashed around the chopper came back in full force. He'd had enough. He'd fu**ing had enough.

"You're just going to kill me here?" he shouted hoarsely to the man giving the orders. "You came all this way just to kill me? What's the point? What the hell is the point? What harm was I doing anyone? I was just . . . _living_. And now you're going to what, shoot me and toss my body?"

The cold eyes looked into his, and the man who had changed his life forever on that cool Colorado night so many months ago and was now about to end it, spoke to him directly for the first time since he'd called him by name at the camp.

"We weren't planning to shoot you first," he said. And then he smiled.

_What?_ Daniel thought. _What? _He looked to the other men in the helicopter and met the eyes of the large black man, and the man held his gaze for a brief moment before he looked away. Daniel felt hands grab his arms on either side and start to pull him forward, and he looked out at the sky rushing by. _Oh, hell, no!_ He put his feet down and pushed backward hard, and one of his arms came free, and he kicked out against the other man, the thin-faced one, catching him in the ribs. The man grunted in pain but didn't let go, then the stocky man grabbed his other arm again, and the two threw him onto his stomach and pushed him forward so his head hung out the opening of the chopper.

Far below, impossibly far below, the rainforest canopy showed its multitude of greens and the Amazon River glittered in the sun. _"Oh, God," _Daniel thought, _not like this_. He tried to twist away from the hands and kicked out again and got a hard punch to the kidney for his effort. Then suddenly, he felt his arms drop, and the big man grabbed the waist of his pants and hefted him forward so his torso was hanging out and pulling the rest of his body with him. In desperation Daniel grabbed the bottom edge of the hatch with his fingers, but his hands slipped off and he somersaulted out into the open sky. He was falling.

Daniel screamed as he plummeted toward the earth. He had time to think what a bad way this was to die and that he ought to know, and he had time to think, _Please, let it be over_. He watched the ground rushing toward him, and he closed his eyes, bracing himself, wondering if he would feel the pain or if death would be instantaneous.

His eyes still closed, he didn't see the flash of blue light.

He felt himself land, strangely, on his feet, then he lost his balance and, hands flailing, he fell backward against something geometrical and sharp, before hitting the ground hard on his side and rolling to his back. He kept his eyes closed and wondered if he was dead, even as his breath came in gasps and pain started radiating from his left arm.

"I am sorry, Dr. Jackson," a voice came close to his ear. "I did not compensate enough for your acceleration and angle. It is not often that I beam someone aboard under these particular circumstances."

_Thor?_

Daniel turned his head toward the voice and opened his eyes and stared uncomprehendingly into the concerned face of the Asgard supreme commander, mere inches from his own.

"Thor?" he gasped out loud this time, still trying to catch his breath. "Thor?" he said again. He tried to sit up, but the pain shot through his arm again and the rest of his body screamed in protest, and the room started to spin and tilt. "Aaaah," he moaned and fell back, closing his eyes again, still not sure if he was in some dream state between life and death.

He heard someone else come into the room, and felt Thor standing up. "I will move Dr. Jackson to the medical table. I am afraid he has been injured," Thor said.

"Daniel? My God, Daniel, what happened to you?" another voice said, and Daniel's eyes shot open. He struggled to sit up again, and this time he was successful. He looked toward the source of the voice, not ready to believe his ears, but there she was, there they both were. "Sam?" he said in barely more than a whisper. "Teal'c?"

Sam knelt beside him, and Teal'c turned to Thor and asked, in his familiar, comforting voice, "Was it not your intention, Thor, to speak to us once you discovered Daniel Jackson's location, before you beamed him aboard?"

"Based on the location at which I found Dr. Jackson," Thor replied, "I determined that haste was the wisest course of action."

Daniel had a sudden urge to laugh, but the way his head was pounding he knew it would hurt too much, so he bit it back. He knew now that none of this was real, nothing except the pain, but it was so nice to see them again, he didn't want the dream to end. The gang's all here, he thought, except one, but he had no doubt he'd make an appearance at any moment. He let dream Sam help him lie back down, then he smiled up at her.

"Where's Jack?" he asked.

Dream Sam's eyes widened then, and she sat back from him and put a hand over her mouth, then she leaned toward him again, tears starting to stream down her face. "Oh, Daniel," she said. "Daniel, I thought you knew. . . ."

Daniel reached his right hand up to brush the tears from her cheek. "Sam," he said. "I'm sorry, Sam, I thought. . . ." But he didn't know what he thought. Shouldn't Jack be here too? And maybe his parents? And why did everything still hurt so much? He closed his eyes again against the anvil hitting his head and the grating of bone against bone in his broken arm.

"Did not O'Neill perish in Antarctica, Daniel Jackson?" dream Teal'c said then, a hint of hope raising his voice.

Daniel felt the old pain in his chest again. "Jack's dead," he whispered. "Jack's still dead." He opened his eyes and looked to Teal'c, Sam and Thor. "But aren't we all dead?"

Teal'c came over then and knelt on his other side. He grasped Daniel's uninjured arm and looked him in the eye. "No, Daniel Jackson. We live. We have survived."

Daniel turned his head toward Sam, and she nodded and gave him a small smile, though she was still crying. _They're real_, he thought.

"Help me up," he said.

"No, Daniel. You're hurt. Wait until Thor takes care of you," Sam said.

"Please," Daniel said again. "Help me up."

Sam looked at Teal'c, and he nodded. They helped Daniel to his feet and stood with him, close to his side. He looked over at Thor, then back at Sam and Teal'c. He touched Sam's cheek again, then turned a little and put his hand flat to Teal'c's chest, and then he smiled. "You made it," he said. "I always knew . . . I told General Hammond. I told him, 'We're SG-1 and we're not that easy to kill.' " His voice hitched a little, and he repeated, still stunned, "You made it."

He swayed on his feet then, and Sam and Teal'c both reached to steady him.

Sam said then, "Daniel, you need to . . ." and Daniel nodded, weariness threatening to overcome him.

"Thor?" Sam said, and Daniel found himself on one of the long tables near the main console.

"This should only take a few moments, Dr. Jackson," Thor said, "but I believe you also require sleep to recover."

Daniel looked back at Sam and Teal'c and said, only half-joking, "You'll still be here when I wake up, won't you?"

Teal'c smiled at him as the clear partition slid into place over the table, and said, "Indeed we will, Daniel Jackson. You will not be alone."

Daniel felt tears sting his eyes at that as the Asgard sedative began to take effect. He wasn't alone. By some miracle, he had his family back. He smiled through the glass at his teammates, comforted beyond measure by their steady presence at his side. But the last vision he had, as he began to drift into his drug-induced sleep, was not of Sam and Teal'c or even of Jack; it was Elena's face he saw, staring up at him with grief-filled eyes, as he'd ripped their lives apart.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Elena?" Daniel whispered, reaching out his hand and finding nothing but air. Cool, dry air. He opened his eyes to see the steel-gray ceiling and the bright, artificial light and closed them again.

"Daniel Jackson? Does something disturb you? Do you still experience pain?"

Daniel turned his head toward the sound of the voice and saw Teal'c walking toward him, a welcome phantom from a previous life, and he felt a strange rush of emotion, joy and despair.

"Teal'c," he said, and just looked at his friend for a moment. "Teal'c." He pushed himself up and swung his legs around to the side of the platform, then swayed a little dizzily. Teal'c took his arm to steady him, and Daniel smiled a little at the solid grasp.

"I'm fine," he said, clearing his hoarse throat. "I was just a little disoriented, I think." He reached for a cup of water on a table at his side, grimacing at the plate of multicolored cubes that sat next to it. He supposed creating food palatable to human tastes was not high on the beleaguered race's agenda.

He took a long drink of the surprisingly cool water, then asked, "How long was I out?"

"Ten-and-one-quarter hours," Teal'c said, sitting down before Daniel on the rectangular block that passed for a seat on an Asgard ship.

Daniel nodded tiredly and looked around. "Where's Sam?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but something of his anxiety must have shown in his voice. So much had happened, so fast, that he still wasn't sure, absolutely, what was real and what was not.

"Do not be concerned. Major Carter is here. She is merely resting. She still has not fully recovered from . . ."—and here Teal'c seemed to be searching for the right words—". . . what has happened."

"What _did_ happen, Teal'c?" Daniel asked quietly.

"Major Carter and I wished to ask you the same question, Daniel Jackson. Thor has told us that you were falling when he brought you aboard, and your injuries were quite obviously the result of a brutal assault."

Daniel felt a shiver pass through him as Teal'c's question brought back his nightmare plummet from the helicopter. He could still feel the rough metal of the hatch as his own weight pulled him forward and he desperately grabbed for the edge with his fingertips. . . .

"Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c's voice was filled with concern.

Daniel realized he was gripping the platform he sat on and slowly relaxed his hands and placed them self-consciously on his lap.

"You first, Teal'c," he said.

Teal'c looked at his friend silently, then nodded. "Very well," he said, shifting on the uncomfortable seat, "although there is not much to tell. We flew too close to the black hole and were caught in its gravitational pull. That much of the story I believe you know. However, as is evident, we did not perish. Instead, we were 'rescued' by an Asgard captain named Tyr."

The way Teal'c pronounced the word _rescued _made it clear that he did not consider what had happened to be an act of kindness.

"Tyr refused to return us to our galaxy or to contact the SGC to inform them—you—that we still lived. He wished us to remain aboard to aid in the battle with the replicators and, eventually, aid in the creation of a weapon to destroy them. There was no respite from the battle for the Asgard or for ourselves. And no rest for Major Carter as she tried to help save the very people who held us captive." He paused and looked toward the doorway as if he could see Sam from where they sat. "These have been long and difficult months for her."

"And for you, Teal'c," Daniel said. His friend had lost weight and looked exhausted still.

Teal'c nodded. "And for me, as well," he acknowledged.

Daniel sighed. "I should have been there, Teal'c. I don't know if I could have changed anything, but I should have been there with you and Sam."

Teal'c looked at Daniel for a long moment. "And I am sorry we were not there for you, Daniel Jackson, and that you were forced to mourn O'Neill's death without us. That must have been most difficult."

Daniel looked down. Seeing Jack's body the way he had, knowing that Jack was never coming back. . .

"I'm sorry I couldn't save him," he said quietly. "I tried." He looked back at Teal'c. "You have to know I tried. . . ."

Sam and Thor walked into the room then. "We know you did, Daniel," she said. "Of course we do. . . ." Sam hesitated. "How are you feeling, Daniel? Do you think you can tell us what happened? If you don't want to talk about it, I understand, but maybe it would help. . . ." She choked a little on her words and looked away, and Daniel felt his own stab of sorrow as he realized again that she and Teal'c had only just learned of Jack's death, that their grief was still excruciatingly new.

Teal'c gave Sam a gentle look, then turned to Daniel. "Thor told us he was too late to save O'Neill," he said, "but he told us only it was already too late when he arrived. Major Carter and I do not understand how such a thing could have happened. Did the Ancient technology fail?"

Daniel closed his eyes. "No," he said.

Sam blinked back tears. "But then how. . . . "

"They killed him," Daniel said, almost too quietly for the others to hear.

Teal'c's expression darkened. Sam came and stood by Teal'c's side. Thor gave a long, slow blink. "I don't understand, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said, his voice low with anger. "Of whom do you speak?"

"They panicked," Daniel said, still not looking at his friends. "You had hardly been gone a week, but they panicked. Ba'al was on his way, the System Lords were close to finding out the truth about the weapon, the other world leaders were still shocked at how close we'd been to being destroyed by Anubis. . . . The President ordered a medical team to try to revive Jack."

"And you didn't try to stop them?" Sam blurted, then put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Daniel. Of course you did. I know you did everything you could. That must have been. . . ."

"I didn't know," Daniel whispered.

The three stared at him.

"By the time Weir told me, he was already gone." Daniel looked at his friends then, some of the anger he'd felt coming back now too. "I couldn't believe it. I mean, how could they do something so stupid? I'd been begging them to let me go there, to see if there was something in the Ancient records to tell us what to do, but they didn't even do that. They just. . . ."

Daniel stopped talking and sighed. "I didn't really believe it, not really, until Thor and I saw his, saw him. . . ." Daniel closed his eyes, the memory suddenly as vivid as the day it happened.

"Oh, Daniel," Sam said. She took a step closer and wrapped her arms around him. Daniel hugged her back and they stayed like that for long seconds. God, he'd missed his friends.

He let go and sat back a little.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again either." He looked at Thor. "Any of you. Once I couldn't go back to the SGC, I wasn't even sure they were still looking for you. General Hammond said he would, and I knew he'd try, but how much could he do from Washington? I even. . . ."

Sam interrupted him. "Daniel, wait. What do you mean you couldn't go back to the SGC?"

"I . . . . You didn't know? . . ." Daniel asked, surprised. Then he put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. "No, of course you didn't know. How could you?"

"Sergeant Harriman did appear startled when we told them that you were with us," Teal'c said. "However, we assumed that was because the SGC knew you to be in Brazil."

Daniel's mouth went dry. "You told them I was here?" He glanced around the ship nervously as if expecting SGC personnel to come out of the bulkheads.

Teal'c and Sam looked at each other and back to Daniel.

"Perhaps it is time that you told us your story, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said.

Daniel stared at his friends, trying to process everything that was happening. He knew Thor wouldn't send him back if he told him not to, that he could go anywhere he wanted, even off-world, but would he endanger Sam and Teal'c by not going with them? Was it even safe for Sam and Teal'c to go home? He'd been so relieved to see his friends alive, he'd felt so comforted by their presence, that he hadn't even begun to think about what should happen next.

"Daniel?" Sam asked again, and there was a gentleness in her voice that almost brought tears to his eyes. "What aren't you telling us? What's happened?"

"It's a long story," he said, wondering if there were some way he could avoid telling it.

"For the first time in many cycles, Dr. Jackson, I am not urgently needed elsewhere. This is due in no small part to the efforts of you, Teal'c and Major Carter on our behalf," Thor said. "I believe we have time to hear your 'story.' "

Daniel nodded in defeat. He took two yellow cubes from the plate, and slid off the hard platform and onto the floor and leaned back against its side. "Sit with me?" he said.

Sam shrugged a little, then sat down as well, crossing her legs. They both looked up at Teal'c expectantly, and the big man gave a small smile and lowered himself from the stool to the floor.

And there they were, just like old times.

Almost.

There were no complaints about aching knees or being too old for this, and no suggestion that they break out the marshmallows and light a campfire.

Daniel unconsciously wrapped his arms around his chest and began to talk.

**********

Teal'c listened intently as Daniel spoke, trying to control the anger building inside him. He was aware that his teammate was giving an abbreviated version of events, glossing over the worst parts as was his wont, yet even the scant details provided showed evidence of the deep scars his friend was trying to hide. Teal'c, during those long months fighting the battles of others as little more than a slave, had harbored a hope that Daniel Jackson had found some method of reviving O'Neill without them and that both he and O'Neill were thriving; he and Major Carter had spent many an exhausted moment weaving just such a fantasy. While they both knew that the chances of reviving O'Neill without the help of the Asgard were not good, never in any of his darkest moments had Teal'c imagined that the Tau'ri would so recklessly cause the death of his friend, nor that Daniel Jackson would be abandoned as he was and hunted by the very people he had worked for so many years to protect.

O'Neill had known, however, had understood the dark side of humans and their governments better than anyone, certainly better than Teal'c, even with his long lifetime of experience with evil. O'Neill had known and had reached from the grave to protect Daniel Jackson. And undoubtedly, as Daniel suggested, O'Neill had made plans to protect the rest of his team as well. O'Neill had known.

". . . and then they found me," Daniel was saying. He paused as if contemplating what else to add and then gave a small shrug and looked up at Thor, who still stood, listening. "And then you found me."

Teal'c, Sam and Thor were silent, waiting for Daniel to continue. When he didn't, Teal'c asked, "And did these men who captured you indicate their intentions toward you? Was it they who caused your injuries? Did you fall attempting to escape?"

"Their intentions?" Daniel asked. He looked at Thor. "Did Thor tell you where I was falling from?"

"It was from a great height," Thor said.

"How great?" Sam asked.

"He was in midair, approximately 800 meters above the ground."

Teal'c and Sam looked at Daniel in shock. "Daniel?" Sam asked.

"They threw me out," he mumbled, hardly able to say the words without feeling the terror of that moment.

"What?"

"They came for me in a helicopter," he said. "They threw me out." He looked his teammates in the eye and gave a grim smile. "So I guess their intentions were pretty clear."

"God, Daniel," Sam whispered. No one else said a thing. Thor stood without moving, and Teal'c looked ready to murder someone, a vein pulsing angrily in his neck. Sam closed her eyes as if trying to avoid the vision Daniel's confession had raised, and said, with almost a plea in her voice, "It couldn't have been the SGC; they couldn't have known. If they had, they would never have let. . . ."

Teal'c stood up, suddenly, startling them all. "The SGC," he said, uncharacteristically interrupting his teammate, "abandoned Daniel Jackson at the time of his greatest need. Your planet's leaders allowed him to be hunted and nearly murdered, as they murdered O'Neill. The Tau'ri, except for a few, have proven themselves to be yet another race without honor." Teal'c looked pointedly at Thor, then strode from the room.

"Teal'c?" Daniel called, but the big man did not break his stride. Daniel moved to get up, but Sam held up her hand, then pushed herself off the ground. "I'll go," she said. "He gets like this sometimes now. It's just been so hard, and he's so angry. I think hearing all this was just, just. . . ." She waved her hand at a loss for words.

"It's O.K., Sam," Daniel said. "Go. I'm fine here."

Sam turned to Thor. "Thor. I'm sorry. He didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"He has every right to be angry at the Asgard for our actions, Major Carter."

Sam nodded. "I'll be back," she said to Daniel. "I promise. And we'll figure something out. We're together now. We'll figure it out."

"I know," Daniel said, and Sam reached down to touch his arm, then followed Teal'c from the room.

Daniel watched her go, then slumped back against the platform. While he had been running and hiding—playing in the dirt (as Jack would have called it)—and even falling in love, the friends he'd abandoned had been trapped in an endless battle for survival, surrounded by beings who cared nothing for their lives except as tools to be used and discarded. And now he was drawing them into another battle when they deserved nothing more than rest and accolades. Daniel closed his eyes. Already exhaustion was seeping into his bones, as if he hadn't just slept for ten hours. He could feel the vibration of the engines through his back, and he let himself be lulled by the steady rhythm and the silence of the bridge.

"Dr. Jackson," Thor said.

Daniel opened his eyes and looked at Thor.

"I am distressed that my actions on that day led to the unmerited harsh treatment by your government and others. If I had known what would occur, I never would have taken the data and materials from the Ancient outpost. Teal'c is correct. By violating the treaty and leaving you to face the consequences, I acted as dishonorably as Captain Tyr and the others."

Daniel rubbed his eyes, then ran his hand through his hair. "You couldn't have known what would happen, Thor," he said.

"Yet, in my desperation to save my people I acted without thought to the consequences. For that I owe you a grave apology."

Daniel sighed. "Thor, did the information you received help to defeat the replicators?"

"Yes. Without it we would have been destroyed."

"Then, for what it's worth, I'm glad you did what you did, and I'm not sorry I encouraged you to do it. It was the right thing to do. I still believe that."

Thor blinked slowly at Daniel. "Dr. Jackson, you, Teal'c and Major Carter will forever have the gratitude of the Asgard people and most particularly of myself. However you choose to proceed from here, know that I will help in any way I can."

"Thank you, Thor."

Thor walked behind a console then and began waving his hand over various panels. Daniel watched him for a moment, then closed his eyes again and soon drifted into an uneasy sleep.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Daniel! . . . Daniel!" Someone grabbed his shoulders from the front, and he struck out and tried to scramble backwards, but the way was blocked. He ducked to the side and rolled, kicking out again, and heard the satisfying grunt and whoof of expelled air as he made contact.

"Daniel Jackson, you must calm down! You are safe here!" Hands grabbed the back of his head and he shouted and reached up to grasp the arms of the man who held him. _Oh, god. It was happening. It was happening again. They were going to break his neck._

Another hand touched his cheek, and he flinched away, but the hand was gentle, almost a caress. He stilled. "Elena?" he whispered.

"No, Daniel. It's me, Sam. Daniel? Look at me. It's Sam."

"Sam?" Daniel realized his eyes were closed and he opened them slowly, blinking in the bright light. Sam was leaning over him, a concerned look on her tired face, her hand still on his cheek. He felt the hold on his head relax, and he realized it was Teal'c's arms he was clutching.Teal'c pulled his hands from Daniel's grasp and helped him to sit up, and Sam backed up to give him a little space.

Daniel put the palms of his hands up and rubbed his eyes, trying to slow the beating of his heart. "Sorry," he said, ignoring the slight tremor in his voice. Although he had always hated when it happened, it wasn't the first time—and by some miracle now, it probably wouldn't be the last—his teammates had pulled him out of a nightmare. He suddenly remembered making contact with his foot and looked at Sam with concern.

"Did I just kick you, Sam? Are you O.K.?"

Sam smiled ruefully and rubbed her side. "Don't worry, Daniel. It's nothing a few Tylenol wouldn't cure. . . . if we had any Tylenol."

Daniel moved to get up. "I'll get Thor. He can. . . ."

"It's all right, Daniel. I'm fine," Sam interrupted. "You should see the punch I gave Teal'c earlier when he tried to wake me up. I think I almost actually moved him."

"Indeed," said Teal'c. "It was most impressive."

Sam smiled, then a shadow crossed her face and she looked away.

Daniel reached out to touch her arm. "Bad one?"

Sam looked back at Daniel, and there was, briefly, a bleakness in her eyes that looked all wrong on her, that the Sam of six months ago would never have carried. She forced a half-smile onto her face. "Not so bad," she said, and they all knew she was lying, so to cover up the silence that followed, she added, "You should see Teal'c."

Daniel, who realized he was still half leaning against his friend, shifted around to look at him. Teal'c looked back, then over at Sam, and Daniel saw something, too, in Teal'c's eyes that shouldn't have been there.

"I do now, more than ever, find the necessity for sleep to be most unpleasant," he acknowledged.

Daniel shook his head, and then, to Sam and Teal'c's surprise, he smiled. "God, we're a mess, aren't we?"

Sam smiled back. "Well, at least now we can be a mess together," she said.

It was Teal'c's turn to smile. "Only you, Major Carter, could turn 'being a mess' into a pleasant prospect."

"I do what I can," she said.

They all laughed, but their smiles soon faltered, and a silence stretched as they contemplated just how different, just how much of "a mess," everything was.

"So," Daniel said, breaking the silence, "what do we do now?"

Sam and Teal'c exchanged another look and Sam nodded at Teal'c.

"Major Carter and I have discussed this since you told us your story, Daniel Jackson, and we are not entirely in agreement," the big man said. "I have told her that I will not return to the SGC if you are unable to. Should that come to pass, I would be honored if both you and Major Carter would join me with the free Jaffa on Dakara, where we could continue our fight against the Goa'uld. Or if you wish, I would help you to settle elsewhere."

Teal'c hesitated, and when Sam didn't say anything, he continued.

"Major Carter, however, is torn by her loyalty to you as her teammate and dear friend and her duty to the United States Air Force. She also worries for the welfare of her brother Mark and his family as well as for that of Cassie. I too consider Cassie Fraiser as family, and will find it most difficult to leave her behind."

Daniel, who was once again leaning against the platform, had been looking at the floor as Teal'c talked. Not looking up, he said, softly, "I hated leaving Cassie. It was as if I abandoned her . . . and Janet."

"No, Daniel," Sam spoke then. "You can't feel that way. You had no choice. We're the ones who chose to go on what could well have been a one-way mission. . . ." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Look, I still think we'll find a way for all of us to go back, if Teal'c will—and I don't blame him if he won't after what happened to you and how they . . . how Colonel O'Neill died—but even if the worst is true and that doesn't happen, I need to at least go back to resign my commission, and I have to see Cassie and Mark. I can't just . . . leave." Sam's voice cracked a little. "I'm sorry, Daniel, Teal'c. I can't."

"God, Sam, I don't want you to leave!" Daniel said, upset at the distress he was unintentionally causing her. "Cassie needs you. Your family needs you. And I know how important the Air Force is to you. I would never ask you to give any of that up. And you're too important to the SGC.

"And Teal'c. You too. I understand your not wanting to go back to Earth, and I'm as angry as you are, but you can't blame the SGC for this. Earth's idiot political leaders, maybe, but not the SGC. No one there had anything to do with what happened to Jack, and, except for one, or maybe a few, infiltrators, I can't believe anyone there tried to have me killed or wouldn't have done anything they could to stop it."

Teal'c looked unconvinced. "What would you have us do, Daniel Jackson?"

Daniel sighed. "I don't know. I'd like you to go back and not worry about me. . . . Wait, let me finish," he said as both Sam and Teal'c started to interrupt. "But I know that's not going to happen. I'm also not sure that it's even safe for you and Teal'c to go back to Earth. If they turned on me for helping Thor, then couldn't they also twist what happened to you and Teal'c and this war you've been fighting with the Asgard into some kind of treason? Or turn on you for helping me?"

"But Daniel, that doesn't make sense. How could they think. . . ?" She stopped, and Daniel saw understanding cross her face. "God, that's exactly how it happened to you, isn't it? One minute you were fighting to save the planet, and the next the colonel was dead and you were running for your life."

Daniel ran his hand through his hair. "That's pretty much the way it happened, yeah."

The three were silent again as they considered the grim possibilities. Thor, who had been listening quietly in the background, stepped forward.

"It appears that what you need is more information before you can act," he said. "And I believe there is only one person on Earth whom you can trust to provide you with that information. With your permission, I will bring him to us."

Daniel, Teal'c and Sam looked at each other. Sam and Daniel nodded, and Teal'c gave one slow dip of his head in consent.

"Do it, Thor," Sam said.

* * *

General Hammond paced outside the Oval Office, waiting for his meeting with President Hayes to begin. The sooner they finished whatever business had called him there, the sooner he could head back to Andrews and catch a transport to Colorado Springs. Ever since he'd received the call from Cheyenne Mountain that Thor was in orbit with Major Carter, Teal'c and, shockingly, Dr. Jackson aboard, he'd been unable to sit still. He wasn't certain what had delayed their return from Thor's ship to the SGC, but he wanted to be there when they arrived. He needed to be there. His people were coming home.

Still, he had to wait. George would never forgive President Hayes for causing Jack's death and forcing Daniel to flee for his life. The President's recent admission that he'd been wrong on both counts didn't change that; Hammond knew that moral qualms had nothing to do with the reversal. If Thor's return, nicely translated and annotated, of the data from the Ancient outpost hadn't mollified the world leaders who had howled for Daniel's blood, and if it hadn't been for report after report out of the SGC of missions that were doomed to failure from the start because of the absence of one brilliant linguist and archaeologist, Hayes would never have acted. He would have continued to look at Dr. Jackson—and Colonel O'Neill—as little more than collateral damage, necessary casualties in the war not for Earth's security, but for political dominance.

No, he would never forgive the man.

But Hammond was still a general in the United States Air Force, and the President was his Commander-in-Chief, so when he received the summons late last night, on his way to Andrews, to be at the White House today at 0900 hours, he'd had his driver turn the car around and head home. He hadn't slept. And now he waited. And paced.

Finally the door swung open, some forty minutes after the meeting was scheduled to begin.

"George!" the President's voice boomed out. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. That thing with China is causing major headaches. You know Senator Torrence, don't you?"

"I do," Hammond said, nodding to the tall, white-haired Montanan. "Senator."

"General," Torrence said, returning the greeting as he strode out of the office, looking none too pleased. Two of the White House staffers followed him out, nodding their greetings at the head of Homeworld Security.

Hammond watched them go, then stepped into the Oval Office. "Sit down, George, sit down. Brian will be with us in a moment. We have a few minutes to chat."

"Yes, sir," Hammond said, careful not to show his frustration at yet another delay as they waited for the chief-of-staff to show up. He walked to one of the couches to sit down, glancing around the office that had become so familiar over the past several years. He wondered when he had lost his sense of awe. Had it been the moment he'd been told that the President had ordered a team to try to revive Jack, or had it been years before he'd even been a regular visitor to the White House, on the day he first saw the event horizon shoot out of the Stargate.

He looked up to find Hayes eyeing him speculatively.

"I know you're anxious to see your people, George, and I'll try to get this over with as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir," Hammond said, and although it stuck a little in his throat: "Thank you, sir."

"It's a miracle they made it home, isn't it? And Dr. Jackson. I'll be happy to have the chance to personally apologize for everything we put him through."

Hammond, with long years of practice, kept his face neutral. "It is a miracle, sir, yes."

Hayes had equally long years and a politician's knack for reading people, and he didn't miss what the general had not said.

"You expect him to throw that apology back in my face."

Hammond paused for just a second too long. "No, sir," he lied.

Hayes shook his head. "You are, as always, quite the diplomat, George. Still, whether he accepts my apology or not, it will be good to have Dr. Jackson, Major Carter and Teal'c back with the SGC. They were sorely missed."

"If they choose to stay with the SGC," Hammond said quietly, voicing his own fears that after everything that had happened, the remaining members of SG-1 might not want to stay. At the same time he wanted to give notice that he would fight for their right to leave. "We have no idea what Major Carter and Teal'c have endured in the past six months and how they will react to Colonel O'Neill's death, and in Dr. Jackson's case, I'm not so sure it's a good idea that he come back."

Hayes frowned. "But didn't you have your people do a thorough check of all the remaining SGC personnel after the incident at Dr. Jackson's house? I thought they came up with nothing."

Hammond nodded. "There are no guarantees, Mr. President. You know that. But it's not the SGC I'm concerned with. I believe we can protect him inside the mountain. It's outside that I'm worried about. You may have had the charges of treason dropped, sir, but I fear that the wolves that were unleashed when the government declared open season on the man will not so easily give up the hunt."

The President was about to respond, when a knock came on the door. "Come in, Brian," he called to his chief-of-staff, and to George: "We'll continue this later."

Hammond nodded and sat back into the couch with a sigh. The conversation had unsettled him, as if just talking about them had made his fears more real. He needed to see his people, make sure they were really all right, grieve with them properly over Jack, and help them sort out what they should do next. He needed to tell Daniel that although the official charges had been dropped, he was not sure it was safe to return home, and he needed to tell him that _before _the three made it back to the SGC. He thought back to the devastated man in that supply room that day, the last time he'd seen his remarkable friend, and he never wanted to see that look on Dr. Jackson's face again. This time, he wanted Daniel to have choices.

As he listened with only half an ear to Brian's report about yet another demand by the Russians concerning the Gate and France's overheated reaction to that demand, with China now weighing in, he realized he wasn't going to have the chance to talk to his people. There was nothing Brian was saying that was new to him—after all, as head of Homeworld Security, he'd known all this before the White House had—but nevertheless, the meeting was guaranteed to drag on for hours while they discussed the best strategy to deal with their allies.

George was shifting on the couch wondering how he could bear another minute in the room when he felt the beam grab him, and he couldn't help the grin that started to form on his face as he saw the President's mouth drop open. If he'd had time, he would have given a Texas-style whoop, but before he could even finish smiling, he found himself on the bridge of the _Daniel Jackson_, staring at one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever beheld. He hoped that somewhere, somehow, Colonel Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill was looking down on them, because here, against the greatest odds, were his three teammates, together, in one piece and, maybe, just maybe, almost home.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Teal'c and General Hammond sat silently as they waited for Daniel to return. Sam, after a time, had excused herself and asked Thor to give her a problem to keep her busy, and they'd gone off together to one of the aboard-ship labs.

"It is a most difficult decision," Teal'c said, finally, as the silence stretched on.

"It is," Hammond acknowledged. "I'm prepared to give Doctor Jackson as much time as he needs to make it."

"As am I."

Hammond waited a beat, then asked, "Have you decided what _you _will do, Teal'c?"

"I have."

Again, Hammond waited, but Teal'c did not elaborate, and George almost smiled, despite the gravity of the situation. He had missed his no-nonsense Jaffa friend.

The two lapsed into silence again. Neither man was prone to idle chatter, and the lack of conversation for the moment suited them both. Like Daniel, they both had a lot to consider. Hammond thought back to his first moments on the ship, when he'd seen Daniel, Teal'c and Sam Carter standing side-by-side_._The smile that had started in the oval office broadened until it had threatened to split his face. Yes, they all looked exhausted, stressed, worn down by months of uncertainty, hardship and grief, but still, here they were, _alive._They'd greeted each other almost formally at first, military protocol along with the long separation and the terrible events of the last months holding them back, but then almost as one they'd stepped forward, and suddenly the four were embracing, military decorum and formality be damned.

They'd been full of questions, Sam in particular, about how the SGC had contacted Thor, how Hammond had known they were still alive, and about Cassie, the SGC and, of course, the war against the Goa'uld, and he'd answered them the best he could. They listened grimly as he recounted the possession of some of the SGC personnel by Anubis and his subsequent escape and were not surprised that Ba'al was still wrecking havoc in the galaxy. He didn't outright say that several crises would most likely have been averted had SG1 been there, afraid that the three, particularly Dr. Jackson, might act out of guilt rather than in their own best interests, but he saw, from the looks they shared, that they easily reached that conclusion themselves.

So he'd changed the subject, and the relief in the room was palpable as he told them that his daughter and granddaughters had taken Cassie into their home and made her a part of the family, and that he himself would drive her back and forth from college whenever he could. He knew the young girl had never been far from their thoughts, and he assured them that, while Cassie had grieved for their absence, she had never once blamed them for leaving.

He'd also told them that it had been Daniel who, with a single coded message, had convinced him that the Asgard might be lying and that they should, therefore, try to use Dr. Kalai's research to contact Thor from Byliason. Daniel had ducked his head and actually blushed at the looks Sam and Teal'c had given him as they had chastised him for his apparent claim that he'd "abandoned them."

"We knew you would never give up on us, Daniel," Sam had said.

"It is a measure of the man you are, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c had said, "that even running for your very life you would find a way to bring us home."

Daniel had shrugged and diverted the conversation, but Hammond could see that a weight had been lifted from the man's shoulders. Thinking of it now, Hammond shook his head. Only minutes later Daniel's shoulders had slumped again as Hammond was forced to tell him that, although the charges of treason had been dropped and he believed their security checks were thorough enough for Daniel to return to the SGC, Hammond did not believe that he could safely leave the mountain.

"I don't understand, General," Daniel had said. "Are you saying that you don't think I should leave the mountain at all?"

"Not on Earth."

Seeing the dismay on the faces of the three teammates, George had tried to soften his words: "I may be wrong, Dr. Jackson. My sources say otherwise, but perhaps the President's decision and orders have swayed the . . . less law-abiding factions as well."

Daniel had shown a glimmer of hope. "When were the charges dropped?" he asked.

"About two months ago, shortly after we first contacted Thor and he transmitted some of the Ancient data."

The hope went out of Daniel's eyes. "Two months. More than long enough ago, then, to get the word out."

Hammond had looked at him curiously, and then to Sam and Teal'c. Major Carter was staring at the floor, and Teal'c was scowling.

"Has something happened?" he asked. "Do you three know something other than what I've told you?"

Sam looked up, and he saw the anger and distress in her eyes. "They tried to kill Daniel yesterday. If Thor hadn't found him when he did. . . ."

Daniel had interrupted her, as if he'd already accepted that his fate was sealed and had moved on. "And what about Sam and Teal'c? Will they be safe if they go back?"

Still trying to process the news that an attempt had been made on Dr. Jackson's life mere hours ago, Hammond didn't answer for a moment. He wondered that he hadn't even thought of the possibility that Major Carter and Teal'c might also endanger their lives by returning, given all that had happened. As he considered everything that his sources had told him and everything he knew about how the people chasing Dr. Jackson operated, he looked at the surviving members of SG-1. Daniel stared back at him, his blue eyes unreadable. Teal'c waited patiently, equally unreadable. Only Sam's emotions were written on her face. Fear, hope and, he thought, guilt for even hoping. . . .

"I think. . . ," he began and then stopped. ". . . I believe that Teal'c and Major Carter will be as safe as they ever were on Earth, given the work we do. I'm afraid though, Dr. Jackson, that it is your outspokenness in support of our alliances with alien races, plus your unique experiences, especially your ascension and descension, that make you a particular target."

Daniel had nodded briskly and then risen, all business. "O.K. I have a little thinking to do. If you don't mind, I'll . . . uh . . . I . . ." Daniel's false composure had failed then, and he'd swallowed hard. "I . . . need . . . I need a few minutes alone to figure this out. I'll just go. . . ." He'd gestured vaguely toward the door, nodded at Sam and Teal'c, and walked from the room.

It was enough to break your heart.

Hammond looked at his watch. That had been almost fifty minutes ago. He gave a slight shake of his head. Fifty minutes? A day? What amount of time would be enough? Hammond tried not to speculate on what Dr. Jackson's decision would be. Colonel O'Neill was gone, in Daniel's mind murdered by their own people, and he himself was a target of men who had, if he read the younger man correctly, terrified him―not an easy thing to do to one of the bravest men, soldier or civilian, Hammond had ever known. Why would he choose to return to the planet under those conditions, only to be confined to a gray underground base, fated to rarely breath fresh air or see the sun?

Yet Earth was _home_. His parents were buried there, Cassie was there. He had to know that Sam wished fervently to return and would be devastated were he and Teal'c not to come with her. Add in the knowledge that―and Hammond now regretted more than ever having mentioned these events―missions had failed, men had _died_who could have perhaps been saved had Dr. Jackson been there to correctly translate a warning or to avoid a cultural misunderstanding, and the decision became even more excruciating.

George heard a noise at the door and looked up to see Sam and Thor enter the room. "Daniel told us he'd be right here," Sam said. Teal'c nodded and rose smoothly from where he'd sat cross-legged on the floor. Hammond, who'd been leaning rather uncomfortably on one of the stools, straightened out as well, and they all looked expectantly toward the entrance to the bridge. A moment later, Daniel walked in. He saw then all looking, and gave one of those trademark self-deprecating smiles that Hammond remembered so well from a hundred briefings.

"Sorry," Daniel said. "It's a lot to take in."

"Indeed it is, Daniel Jackson. If you would like more time to consider, we are content to wait."

Daniel smiled at Teal'c. "No, that's O.K. . . . General?" he said, turning to Hammond, "Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?"

George smiled kindly. "Of course not, Dr. Jackson."

"O.K., well first, are you certain if I go back that I'll be able to continue going through the Gate?"

"Yes, I'm certain. Landry is a good man, and you can trust him."

"And if I decide, despite your warnings, to leave the mountain, either temporarily or for good?"

"No one at the SGC will stop you, son."

Daniel couldn't help but notice the words "at the SGC," but he didn't comment.

"And if I decide later to leave Earth?" he asked instead.

Hammond hesitated. He'd like to think that leaving Earth for good should Daniel change his mind would be an option, but except for Colonel O'Neill's false departure when he was undercover, such a move had never been approved.

"I'm afraid there's no guarantee of that, Dr. Jackson" he said. "You know the NID and the Joint Chiefs have never been comfortable with the idea of high-security personnel leaving the planet outside the jurisdiction of the SGC." He hesitated again and added reluctantly, "If you wish to make another planet your home, it would be best to make that choice now."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Major Carter draw in a breath. Teal'c did not change expression, but kept his eyes steadily on his linguist teammate. Daniel sighed, but nodded his head, as if he had expected as much.

Before anyone else could speak, however, Thor stepped forward. "I believe I can be of assistance here, Dr. Jackson. I will of course transport you to wherever you wish to go now. I will also pledge, should you return to Earth, that for as long as my responsibilities allow me to, I will return to the Milky Way periodically to check on your well-being. I will provide you with a communications device for those times. And of course, should you be allowed by your SGC, you may attempt to contact me at any other time. I understand that this is not a perfect solution, but perhaps it will make your decision less onerous."

Again, the four beings in the room looked to Daniel expectantly. Daniel was staring at the floor, his arms wrapped around his torso as he thought.

"Daniel?" Sam asked.

Daniel looked up. "Sorry. Right. Thor, thank you for that. It will be good to know you're out there."

There was another long silence.

"Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel looked to General Hammond and took a deep breath.

"O.K.," he said simply.

The four looked at him.

"O.K., I'll come . . . 'home.' "

Teal'c nodded. "Then I shall return to Earth with you, Daniel Jackson. For as long as I can."

Daniel nodded in turn, and Sam let out a long breath and the three just looked at each other.

Hammond let out his own small sigh of relief as he contemplated the expressions on the faces of the three teammates. Neither joyful nor sad―more determined than anything else―their eyes transmitted a world of feeling, and Hammond realized almost with surprise that, after all his years watching the unique dynamic of SG-1, he too could read their silent communication. They were going back to a world gone mad, a world without Jack O'Neill, a world that might turn on them―again―at any moment, but they were going back together. And that would have to be enough.

***********

**Colorado Springs, three weeks later**

Daniel pulled his jacket more tightly around himself. An early autumn frost covered the ground, making the grass crunch a little under his boots. He stopped and stared ahead. He wasn't used to the cold, had almost forgotten what it was like to be cold. It was the first time he'd been outside since he'd returned to Earth; the last time he'd breathed fresh air, he'd been in the Amazon, and the last time he'd seen frost . . . he thought back and pulled out a vague memory from those jumbled days of running and hiding, some small town in northern Alberta that hadn't yet woken up to spring . . . how long ago? Six months? A lifetime?

Daniel knew he was stalling. He had asked to be here, had insisted on his right to come, over the misgivings of General Landry and the objections of the security team, but now. . . .

He felt the steady, patient presence of Sam and Teal'c on either side of him, their shoulders almost touching his, and he could see the white puffs of their breaths disappearing before him. They'd stopped when he had, and he knew that they would wait with him there as long as it took. They'd come before him, and had said their goodbyes.

Sam and Teal'c would wait, and so, he thought a little guiltily, would the half-dozen security personnel dressed in civilian clothes who had spread out around them and the others, in dark cars parked at the entrances and on the street. Daniel grimaced. He didn't want to admit that he still felt hopelessly exposed, and it took a concerted effort not to let his eyes dart nervously about, looking for a sudden movement in the trees or a stranger lurking. Even though it had only been three weeks since he'd been rescued by Thor, and even though he still had nightmares about the last time he'd been here, he wanted to think that he was safe, that all the security wasn't necessary, that it was silly and waste of time and resources. He'd even argued that point vociferously to General Landry. Landry had heard him out patiently and then said, "I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson. You go, they go," and then turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk.

As simple as that.

Daniel glanced to either side at Sam and Teal'c. Teal'c kept his eyes forward, as if to allow Daniel privacy. Sam smiled a little, encouragingly, letting him know with a look that she understood why he hesitated, but he could see the pain behind her eyes, and he knew what it was costing her to be here, in this place.

He returned Sam's smile with a small one of his own and took another deep breath. He forced his eyes forward again and took in the headstones, two of them now where there'd been one.

_God._

He started walking and Teal'c moved with him and then stopped, and his teammates let him go this last, short distance alone. The sky was a brilliant blue and the frost sparkled in sunlight so bright he had to shade his eyes, but he couldn't help but think of the last time he'd been here, creeping through the shadows on that dark, terrible night. How much had happened since then, how much had the world changed, had _he _changed? How many lives had been twisted, harmed?

Daniel slowed and then stopped in front of the markers. He looked at the older stone first, its simple, poignant words so familiar, then turned his eyes to the other. He got down on his knees and brushed his fingers lightly across the engraving.

"Hello, Jack," he whispered, and despite his best intentions, he started to cry.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

_I dreamed of Abydos last night. I was caught in a deadly sandstorm, fighting against the wind and grit in the air, almost blind. Through the howling wind I heard a distant voice calling from behind me, from the city, but I didn't turn. My lungs ached and the sand slashed painfully against the exposed skin on my hands and face, but I kept moving. Something, I didn't know what, drove me forward, impossible step by impossible step. Suddenly ahead of me I saw a hazy figure. I started to push harder against the wind, running, stumbling. The figure shimmered, then became solid. I tried to cry out through the cloth around my mouth, but the sound was lost. I pulled the cloth down and took in a mouthful of sand, but I managed to croak out his name. "Jack!" I called. "Jack!" He didn't answer, just stood there staring at me. I reached out for him, was almost there, when he started to shimmer again. I lunged forward to grab him, but my arms closed around nothing but air._

_He was gone._

_I opened my eyes and found I was on the cot in my office, but I could still feel the sand choking me and the emptiness in my grasp, and I had an overwhelming urge to get out of the mountain and breath air, real air. I sat up, shoved my feet into my boots, grabbed my jacket and headed topside. The elevator ride seemed interminable, and when I finally got to the desk to sign out I think I was practically hyperventilating. A young kid I'd never seen but who obviously knew me said, oblivious to my distress, "Dr. Jackson, hold on a minute, please. Let me get your escort."_

"_I'm just going topside for a few minutes," I stuttered, trying to speak calmly, even though it felt as if the walls were closing in around me. "I'm not leaving the base. I don't need security." I knew even as I spoke that the young airman had no choice. Since that day on the way back from the cemetery, when security had spotted a "suspicious vehicle" that even more suspiciously sped off when it was approached, Landry had issued orders that I be assigned a guard every time I even think about sticking my head outside the door._

_Which is why I haven't seen the sun in almost two weeks. Not our sun, anyway. It's just too much trouble._

"_I'm sorry, sir," the guard―Owens, his name tag read―said. "Our orders are that. . . ."_

_I don't know if it was the dream, or just exhaustion or too much time in this damn gray box, but I almost lost it then, and I would have if Ferretti hadn't come by with Major Briggs at that moment. What they were doing there at oh-three-whatever in the morning, I had no idea, but Ferretti's appearance stopped my tirade before it could get started._

"_Hey, Daniel, where you headed?" he asked calmly, as if it were perfectly normal for me to be signing out._

"_For some air," I ground out, "if I could just. . . ."_

_Ferretti, who after Sam and Teal'c, probably knows me better than anyone on the base, had no trouble reading the situation. "Mind if I go with you?" he said._

_I let out a long breath and nodded, a little too freaked out, still, to trust myself to talk. I really, really needed to get out of the mountain._

"_Will that be all right, Airman?" Ferretti asked, turning to the guard._

"_Sir, you really ought to be armed if. . . ."_

"_Airman," Ferretti said, and this time there was steel in his voice. It sounded odd coming from Lou―I guess I'd never, even after all these years, heard him use his "command voice"―but it was effective._

"_Yes, sir," Owens said._

_Thank God._

_By the time we got out, I felt as if I were going to be sick, but I drew in great lungfuls of air, and gradually my heart settled back to normal and I didn't feel so dizzy. Lou didn't say a word, just gave me the space I needed. We were out on the hill, not far from where I'd contacted the Nox for the Tollan that night so long ago. I sat on a rock and closed my eyes and let the cold air surround me, and I just _breathed.

_Thirty minutes later, I was back inside, apologizing to Owens._

_I asked Teal'c one day how he'd stood it, in those months after he'd first joined SG-1 but still hadn't gotten clearance to leave the mountain. He'd looked at me in that way he has, his long years of experience showing in his eyes, and didn't speak for a moment. Finally he said, "My situation was not the same as yours, Daniel Jackson. You must remember, when I first came to the SGC, I had lived for decades as a slave. To be able to traverse the corridors here, to go to the commissary when I desired nourishment and return to my room when I wished for solitude―to be able to speak my thoughts without risking death―this was more freedom than I had ever known."_

_Leave it to Teal'c to put things into perspective. It wasn't his intention, I know. He feels my isolation almost as keenly as I do, but his words resonated. I have to remember that, really, I am one of the lucky ones. I have a warm bed and full stomach. I have my life, and I have my work. And yes, I've lost people, so many people, that I've loved, but―and I never stop being grateful for this―I have Sam and Teal'c, and people like Ferretti here to watch my back._

_That's what I tell myself, anyway. I'm one of the lucky ones._

_Teal'c, Sam and I try to make our bond enough; we hold on to each other like lifelines. When we're not on a mission, Sam will stick her head in my office several times a day, if I'm not already sitting in her lab watching her work. Teal'c hovers over us both, ready to catch us should we falter, and Sam and I both join him in Kel'no'reem whenever we can. Sam stays on the base more often than she goes home, and Teal'c comes back more quickly than he should from his business on Dakara. A year ago I would have told them they were being silly, that I didn't need a babysitter, and I should probably tell them that now._

_But I don't._

_Jack's loss is a hole we can't fill, and we can't help but be changed by everything else that's happened. Sam is so much quieter, so much sadder, so much harder than the woman who left with Teal'c that day for the Ida Galaxy. She's all business on missions now, a soldier doing her job, a teammate watching our backs. I think she's considering transferring to Area 51, or would be, if she could take us with her. Here every hallway holds memories; every mission is a reminder._

_And Teal'c, his anger is sometimes so close to the surface that most of the base personnel, consciously or unconsciously, cut a wide path around him as they pass. After all these years, despite everything he's seen, I think Teal'c had finally started to feel at home among the Tau'ri, had started to trust us, and others, like the Asgard. The trust is gone, and I know that hurts him more than he can say. I see his thoughts turn more and more to the Free Jaffa. He still finds hope there, something to strive for._

_And me? I'm still passionate about the fight against the Goa'uld, of course. I will never let that go. But everything else just seems so . . . flat. General Hammond told me there might be a mission to Atlantis to contact the expedition, and he asked if I was interested in going. There was a time when I wouldn't have hesitated. A chance to see Atlantis and the wonders it must hold? It would have been a dream come true. Now, though, I just don't know. To go would mean to leave Teal'c and Sam behind, and I don't think I'm ready for that yet. None of us are._

_And there's more, of course._

_Sam and Teal'c have guessed, I think. They know something else brought me back here, that something else holds me firmly to the planet, despite all my reasons for leaving. I must have said her name out loud once, in a dream maybe, because Sam even asked me: "Daniel, who's Elena?" I just smiled and shook my head, and Sam didn't mention it again._

_But I'm pretty sure she knows._

_Elena, I hope wherever you are that you are happy, that someday you can smile when you remember me and not remember only the horror of our last day. I hope, at least, that you don't hate me, although you have every right. Maybe someday―_

_God, I'm an idiot. Elena would curse me for this. She'd damn me again for my pretty words, and tell me that they aren't enough. That they're no substitute for living, for loving, for staying. And she's right. She's right._

_But sometimes words are all I have._

**São Paolo, Brazil**

Elena sat at her metal and glass desk in her two-bedroom flat, with its high windows looking out over the city. Her friends, her family, they'd all teased her, Elena Borques, the studier of ancient cultures, for selling the old, rundown place her parents had helped her buy when the children were small and moving into a new high rise, never mind decorating it with ultramodern furniture. But that was the way she liked it. The children were rarely home anymore, and hardly ever at the same time, so she didn't need the space. And somehow, the clean lines and stark rooms freed her mind, allowed it to roam more easily through the past. The distant past, that is. The recent past was. . . .

Elena shuffled through papers on her desk. Manoel had dropped by the sealed manila envelope that morning. He didn't say what was in it, but he didn't have to. She could tell by the look in his eyes. She'd considered dropping the whole thing in the trash―she'd told him, hadn't she, that she didn't want to know―but in the end, she couldn't do it. She needed to look inside.

Now she again picked up the grainy black-and-white photo on the top, obviously printed from the Internet. It showed a young man, slight, big glasses, long hair, a shy smile on his face. He looked so impossibly young and innocent, but there was no mistaking who it was.

Jacques.

"Dr. Daniel Jackson, Guest Lecturer" the caption said.

"_Doctor," _she repeated the word in English and smiled a little despite herself. She'd always thought Jacques had known way too much to be the amateur he'd claimed. She looked again at the bio Manoel had found, pulled from some old American university web page. Dr. Daniel Jackson. A triple Ph.D. By the time he was 22, no less. By the time he was 24, he had headed up digs much larger than their Upper Xingu site; before he was 30, he'd been offered a full professorship and was well on the way to becoming a respected Egyptologist. Having seen Jacques's brilliance firsthand, Elena had no doubt that if he'd stayed in academia, he would by now have been the top man in his field. But instead, he'd. . . .

She sighed as she picked up the small stack of articles from various journals, all dated some eight years ago. All of them, in some form or other, told the same story, most with a level of ridicule rarely found in professional journals. Some of the articles even suggested that he'd inherited the insanity of his archaeologist grandfather or never recovered from witnessing the death of his mother and father―archaeologists too―as a young child. _Bastards_, she thought now, remembering the picture of Jacques as a boy in Egypt, standing happily between his parents. How could they throw that in his face?

But she also knew her own stab of guilt, for as soon as she'd seen the articles, she'd felt the shock of recognition. She remembered the story. Barely into her teaching career, she and her friends had laughed at the_ Americanolouco _apparently thought that aliens had built the pyramids so they'd have a place to land their spaceships.

Everyone had laughed.

Trying now to reconcile the man she knew with such a wild theory, she looked carefully at the transcript of the infamous talk, reprinted in full in one of the articles. She drew in a deep breath as she read. Far from the ravings she'd expected and thought she remembered, the lecture was, in fact, brilliant. Of course it was. Jacques―_Dr. Jackson―_laid out his theories clearly and concisely; he'd shown how the cross-pollination of cultures, evidenced by the discovery of Egyptian and other artifacts in far-flung parts of the world, did not fully fit any of the current models and explained, with facts that had to this day never been refuted as far as she knew, how he'd come to the conclusion that Egyptian civilization was far older than his colleagues or anyone else had theretofore thought. It was truly a masterly presentation.

Unfortunately, while he hadn't actually come out and said that aliens were responsible, there was no doubt that that is what he was implying as he ended his lecture―and, also, apparently, his career.

After that, there was no mention anywhere of Dr. Daniel Jackson and what had become of him. Nothing, nothing at all.

So what had happened? Had he truly lost his mind and joined some terrorist cell?

No.

If she knew anything, she knew that Jacques was no terrorist. She got up and went to the closet in her bedroom and pulled the rucksack from the back. Jacques's rucksack. Saunders had found the bag the evening after the men in the helicopter had come. It had been leaning _against_ a tree at the edge of the forest. Jacques had made it to the trees, was well on his way to escaping, but he'd come back. To protect them. To protect her.

She pulled out the journal, three-quarters finished, and flipped through the pages, as if this time she'd be able to miraculously read his strange code, but it was as impossible to decipher as always. Still searching for answers, she slipped out the three photographs he'd dropped that last day and brought the one of him standing with his friends, obviously the most recent, back to her desk. They had their arms over each other's shoulders, and they were smiling. There was an intimacy in their pose that spoke of trust and comfort, as if they'd known each other for years. And there was something else in the way they held themselves, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. A kind of competence and certainty, as if they'd taken on the world and won. Soldiers, she wondered? Saunders, before she'd screamed at him to leave her alone, had said he was certain Jacques was a soldier.

She brushed her finger lightly over Jacques's image in a kind of a caress. "Damn it, Jacques," she said out loud. "Who the hell were you?"

"Is that him?" a voice sounded behind her.

"Gabriela," Elena said, pushing the photographs away before she turned, "I didn't hear you come in. And who do you mean?"

"_Him_," Gabriela said, "the guy you've been mooning over since you got back."

"I don't _moon over _anyone, young lady. You know that."

Gabriela tilted her head and bit her lip, a gesture that made her look for all the world like the little girl Elena used to hold in her lap. "No," Gabriela said, sounding a little uncertain, "you didn't use to."

Elena considered keeping up the front. She formed the words in her mind, "It's nothing. He was no one," but she couldn't bring herself to say them. Whoever he was, whoever he had been, Jacques, beautiful, brilliant, kind Jacques, deserved better.

"No," she repeated instead, a sad smile on her face, "I didn't use to."

Gabriella looked at her mother, another question in her eyes, but she stopped herself and just nodded.

"I'm sorry, mama," she said.

Elena reached out to give her not-so-little girl a hug. "So am I, sweetie, so am I."

**American Airlines Flight 2690, Rio to Miami**

Reggie Saunders gave up, finally, on trying to sleep and shifted uncomfortably in the narrow seat. In less than an hour, they'd be landing in Miami. Assuming he made it through passport control without being arrested, two hours after that he'd be on a flight to St. Louis.

Home.

Damn, he was nervous. He hadn't been in the States in more than four years. Not since his marriage had disintegrated, and the IRS started sending him threatening letters about the taxes he'd neglected to pay, and that little side deal he was working with that weasel Hanks to try to raise the money turned out to be something less than legal.

He wondered if the pilot would maybe consider turning the plane around.

He felt the sudden slight change in air pressure and realized they were already starting their descent. Hell. He wondered if maybe, in a life full of stupid ideas, this was the stupidest. His wife hated him, understandably, for screwing around on her and then, adding insult to injury, skipping the country and leaving her with the huge tax bill and house payments she couldn't possibly keep up on her own. His brother thought he was a loser, his nieces probably didn't remember him, his mother would. . . . He frowned. His mother would probably welcome him home the way she always did, with a big embrace, and never mention the fact that he had written, two, count them, two letters to her in all those years, two letters with no return address. She wouldn't mention it, but he'd see it in her eyes.

And then of course there was the little matter of the possession of stolen goods charge that was still hanging over his head, swear as he might on a stack of Bibles that he thought his friend's electronics business was legit. His pal in the county clerk's office was pretty confident that an old Missouri bench warrant wouldn't show up when he went through immigration in Miami, but as the plane continued its descent, Saunders wasn't feeling quite so certain.

Yet here he was, heading home, hoping to some way, somehow, set things right.

_Damn you, Jacques Perrault._

For if he was going to blame anyone, it would be Perrault. The man who, even with all his secrets, wore his heart on his sleeve. The man who saved Reggie's life and probably half a dozen others the day he knocked Reggie's gun aside and stood unarmed before an angry mob. The man who, scared sh**less―and who wouldn't be?―still walked back out of the rainforest into the hands of stone-cold killers, and, almost certainly, gave his life for theirs.

He figured he owed the man, and for the life of him, this was the only way he could think to repay him. He was going home, facing up to his past, clearing his name, trying to make it up to Maggie even if she would probably spit in his face. And, in jail or not, he was going to track down Hanson's wife and kids and do whatever he could to help take care of them. And he'd tell the kids about the pictures of them on their dad's desk in Altamira and how, wherever they'd been, in Afghanistan or Brazil, their dad never spoke more than three sentences without mentioning how great they were doing in school or how funny they were.

The seatbelt light came on, and Reggie glanced out the window at the fast-approaching coast. He downed the last of the Scotch from the plastic cup in his hand and clutched the armrest. He may have been this nervous without a gun pointed at him before, but he couldn't remember when. He closed his eyes and brought back the image of Perrault by that helicopter, beaten and bloody, barely able to stand, but still fighting, still _talking_ for their lives. That was the image that had brought him this far and the image that would get him off the plane and into his uncertain future.

For the first time in a long time in his screwed up life, Reginald Bellows Saunders was going to try to do the right thing. It was the least that he could do.

_Damn you, Jacques Perrault._

End

***********

Thanks for reading, everyone.


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